


Harnessing Starfire

by Sherza



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Bones is a hypo-ninja, Chekov is a troll, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Kirk/Uhura Friendship, Kirkian Diplomacy, Klingons, M/M, Making Admirals Cry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Pike is Amused, Pon Farr, Romulans, So I fix that shit, Spock Prime needs his Kirk, Sulu is insane, T'hy'la, Uhura is a BAMF, Uhura is not a bitch, Xenophobia, and Cardassians oh my, attempted genocide, badassery, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 138,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherza/pseuds/Sherza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise has a crew unlike any other. They are the best and brightest that Starfleet has to offer, the vast majority of them are painfully young, and they are largely untried. They are led by the most unpredictable and explosive duo that has ever graced Starfleet Command.</p><p>Alpha and Beta Quadrants are reeling under the after-effects of Nero's second rampage. The Klingon Empire's fleet has been gutted. The Romulans are ominously silent. The shattered remnants of the Vulcans are desperately trying to save their culture and their people.</p><p>All eyes are on the Enterprise, the boatload of children who succeeded where an entire armada failed. Depending on who you talk to, they are heroes, villains, or ignorant, blindingly lucky upstarts. After their rather explosive beginning, how will the Enterprise and her command crew fare?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. James Tiberius Kirk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Star Trek and never will. Please don't sue.
> 
> I fell in love with the Alternate Original Series when I saw the first movie. The differences in the various characters and the 'universe' enthralled me. The possibilities for their future were endless. Then the sequel came out, and I was SO BITTERLY DISAPPOINTED. Because with literally all the possibilities in the universe, they went with a Wrath of Khan remake.
> 
> So here I am, writing what I would have liked to see and didn't even come close to getting. Needless to say, Star Trek: Into Darkness *never happened* and never will. Everything else is fair game.
> 
> The first two chapters cover Jim and Spock and their lives from birth to just before the 'award scene' in the movie. The third chapter on will fill in the gap between that final black hole and the 'award scene', and beyond.

James Tiberius Kirk

There are two things James Tiberius Kirk has always known: one, he was a survivor; two, he absolutely loathed George Kirk.

The survivor thing, that was obvious to anyone who knew his name. Born early, in space, under attack by an enormous Romulan ship. The thing is ... most people assumed that was the end of it. That as George Kirk's son he wanted for nothing. They were wrong. Jim had been fighting for survival his entire fucking life. All thanks, ultimately, to George Kirk. Which explained why he loathed the man with every fiber of his being.

The first and biggest problem was that George Kirk's death broke his wife in ways that Jim would never fully understand. Jim could understand, to a point. Listening to the man you love sacrifice himself so that you and eight hundred other people (including your newborn son) can live is going to do a number on you. What he couldn't understand, and would never forgive, was that Winona didn't go down in flames alone. She tried to take Jim and his older brother down with her.

Jim first became aware of the problem when he was four years old. First there was the fact that he only knew his age because Sam told him how old he was. Secondly, it was the first year he became aware of the fact that his birthday was not like anyone else's. Sam wished him a happy birthday, but he was the only one. Winona spent the day locked in her bedroom. There was no party or gifts like his preschool friends had.

Jim also became aware, at that age, of the fact that Winona was gone from before dawn until well after dusk five or six days a week most weeks. All seven days sometimes, if she could manage it. Sam, then eight years old, was in charge of making them sandwiches for lunch and getting them both dressed and to school in the mornings. In the evenings, their nearest neighbor would come over to check on them and bring them dinner. Sam had to help Jim with his homework and get him into bed.

While it had to have been bad for Sam, forced to be responsible at such a young age, it was mostly lonely for Jim, then. Things didn't get truly horrible until a year later. That was when Winona lost her mind and decided to get married 'for the kids' sake', apparently. Frank, a local farmer, was her choice. Jim never could figure out why she married him, or why Frank accepted. Winona didn't love Frank, something Jim had figured out within a couple years. If a little kid could figure it out, Frank had to have known from the outset.

From the start, Frank was sour and grumpy and Jim, at five, couldn't figure out why. He did everything in his power to be a good boy, to impress his new dad, to no avail. Frank either ignored him or heaped verbal abuse on him. Jim's only comfort was that Sam got much the same treatment.

School was no refuge from the growing unhappiness in Jim's life. He was, literally, a genius. By the time he went into first grade, he could perform all subjects on at least a fifth-grade level, sixth for a few. He flitted from subject to subject with such speed that in an earlier era he might have been accused of having an attention deficit disorder. He was also a hands-on learner. Make him stick only to books and written tests, and he struggled, slowing to something much closer to the learning speed of his age-mates. Allow him to work outside of those constraints and he raced ahead at warp speeds. That combination of traits tended to bring out the worst in teachers, who did not have the time or resources to cater to one child's learning needs. It also made him a prime target for bullies.

Jim was six when he first realized that the way things were at home was not only not normal, but actually wrong. That Sam should not be taking care of him, especially not now that Frank was around. That the verbal putdowns Frank dished out like candy weren't right. That the occasional spankings, which were gradually increasing in frequency and severity, were also swiftly heading in that direction. That his mother should have been protecting him. 

Worse, nothing was being done about the situation. Jim had seen more than one person give Frank odd looks when he snarled at Jim or Sam in public. But apparently, accusing Winona Kirk of abuse and neglect, or allowing someone else to abuse and neglect her children, was just not done. It was at that point that Jim stopped being a child. That was when he first learned that life was never fair, and that he was on his own. That was when he began to learn hate, cynicism, and mistrust of authority.

Sam was fairly phlegmatic of temperament, quiet, industrious, and obedient. He was responsible and dependable. As such, he avoided the worst of the abuse. Jim, on the other hand, was wild, restless, driven, increasingly mistrusting, angry, and bitter. The resultant clashes with Frank, Winona, and authority figures in general over the next few years were all but pre-ordained, as was the inevitable vicious cycle of anger, acting out, and punishment.

By the time he was nine, Jim was sick to death of hearing the name George Kirk, never mind anything about him. It really didn't help that George had been canonized by what felt like the entire Federation. George was an infallible god and the savior of the universe, to hear most people tell it. On the other hand, Jim was a lazy, stupid, no-account waste of oxygen and a disappointing legacy for the 'great man'.

Most of the time, Jim just wanted to punch everyone in the face and scream. Anger had all but become a living thing in his chest, making it hard to breathe sometimes. It felt like there was only George, and nothing Jim ever did was ever going to mean anything to anyone, because he wasn't George.

He'd all but stopped trying in school. He did the work assigned and then explored beyond, delving deeper into the subject, whatever it might have been. But he handed in work that was just-barely-passing quality. He'd figured out pretty damn fast that excelling was expected of George Kirk's son, and even top grades didn't get congratulated by anyone. The worst part was that fully half his teachers gave him excellent grades anyway, despite his sub-par work. It was enough to make him scream.

Then, of course, there was Frank, who constantly told Jim he was marginally stupider than the corn in the fields around their house. Winona had been in space for eleven months out of every year since he was four. She couldn't even bring herself to look at Jim most days, never mind comment on his grades. Worse, Winona had somehow managed to work things out in such a way that she hadn't had to step foot on the Kirk farm for the last two years running, so Jim hadn't even laid eyes on her in that time. The only reason he knew she wasn't dead was because they hadn't had someone from Starfleet on their doorstep, telling them she'd died. It said something about their relationship that the best he could dredge up at the thought of her death was tired resignation and dull acceptance. 

The worst of it, though, was Sam. Sam was thirteen then, and had no longer wanted his little brother tagging along behind him. He'd gotten almost as exasperated with Jim as his teachers. The defection was a bitter blow.

The next few years were as close to hell as they could be for Jim. The screaming matches with Frank gradually gave way to physical lashing out on both sides that Jim lost. He lost rather spectacularly, given he wasn't even a teenager yet. Still, he refused to back down and let Frank win.

Winona flitted in and out a few times, actually visiting the farm. She was never there for more than a couple days before she left. While she was there, she never, ever looked Jim in the face, spoke directly to him, or even said his name. She looked well to one side of him and made 'general requests' like "Someone needs to take the garbage to the compactor." By then, Jim had become so habituated to her absences and her inability to interact with him that her complete rejection of him hardly stung. Or so he firmly told himself.

Still, she was his mother, and he had not given up on her entirely. Shortly after he turned twelve, Frank got the brilliant idea to sell George Kirk's old car for money he hadn't needed. Jim knew that Winona would be less than pleased with the car being sold. Sam knew it too, and for the first time in ages, they combined forces to try to talk Frank out of it, but he was intractable.

Jim then had what he later admitted was one of his less than brilliant ideas. He stole the car with the intent to destroy it, rather than see it sold to some George Kirk memorabilia collector. When all was said and done, Jim was in jail, and Winona had been recalled to Earth and couldn't make up her mind who to kill first, Jim or Frank. 

As part of Jim's sentence, he had to go to a reform school, and they gave him a choice of places to go. The list was made up of something like ten such places on Earth. Frankly, Jim wanted as far away from his family as he could get. Fortunately, several dozen such places were located off-planet. Jim picked one on Tarsus IV. 

At first, it was a fucking brilliant move. Nobody on Tarsus gave a merry hell who he was, or who his dad was. All they cared about was how hard he could work to help the reform school's huge facility operate smoothly, how well he could excel in class, and making sure he got his shit straightened out. Even the shrink didn't let him get away with any shit.

He had the time of his life for the next two years. His grades soared in the face of the staff's refusal to accept half-assed anything. The therapy sessions helped him get a handle on his anger and deal with the shit his life had thrown at him thus far. He began to accept that people that didn't see 'him' weren't worth the time it took to blow them to hell. He began to figure out that all that mattered was doing his best. He still hated George, but it wasn't all-consuming anymore. Best of all, the staff and other kids became a very oddball, somewhat dysfunctional but supportive and caring family; the first 'real' family Jim had ever known.

The drought when he was fourteen was worrying, but not massively so. At least, not until relief supplies didn't arrive. Jim had no idea who was at fault there: whether it was Starfleet, the governor, or someone else, but it happened. The school wasn't as hard hit as others, as they had backup supplies on hand, due to them being a government-sponsored facility. Jim hardly noticed the shortages that first year.

Then, when he was fifteen, they had another drought. Then some sort of disease hit the plant life and killed about half of what made it through the drought. They went from little food to basically no food in next to no time at all. The results were not pretty. There were riots, thefts, and an increasing number of assaults as people panicked. Again, no relief supplies came. Again, Jim didn't know why, and never did find out. Then Kodos lost his fucking mind and everything went to hell.

Starfleet, when pressed, admitted the fuckup on Tarsus IV happened. They were swift to claim matters only got out of hand for a couple weeks before Starfleet came on the run and fixed things. Starfleet lied.

It was six months. Six months of terror, starvation and a desperate, grim determination to not only get out of this alive, but to get as many of his family out alive as humanly possible. Six months of pulling rabbits out of his ass every five seconds, despite a lack of sleep and waning strength. Six months of doing things, making decisions that no adult should have to do or decide, never mind a fifteen-year-old kid; things that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Six months of agonizing grief as he watched people he'd known for years succumb to starvation and sickness or be rounded up by Kodos' minions and be executed.

By the end of those six months, Jim was nothing but a hollow shell filled with rage. Less than a day before Starfleet finally descended on the colony to render aid and restore order, Jim managed to weasel his way into Kodos' stronghold and slit the bastard's throat in his sleep. He'd been unaware that help was so close. He'd only known that the only way the madness would stop was if Kodos was no longer alive to incite his soldiers to murder.

In a bitter irony, Jim made a name for himself, if only among the Tarsus IV survivors. While no one knew who had killed Kodos, and Jim would never tell, Jim had attained recognition another way. He had somehow managed to keep twenty fellow schoolmates alive. They were skin and bone, with haunted, dead, empty eyes, but they were alive. Theirs was the only cell of survivors led by someone underage, and the only cell comprised solely of children. Their cell was also the fourth largest cell: the other three had between twenty-two and twenty-six people, all adults.

Not that Jim had known those statistics at the time. When he and his cell were found, the rescuers had to stun him to get anywhere near the others. He'd been so far gone by that point that he saw anyone not in his cell as a threat and immediately tried to kill them.

He trashed half the Sickbay when he regained consciousness. Despite being thirty pounds underweight and at the end of his strength, three medics and two security officers ended up bruised and bleeding in the ensuing struggle to get Jim restrained. In the end, they had to stun Jim again before anyone could tend to his medical needs, because even restrained, he thrashed and tried to bite anything that came in range of his teeth.

They had to keep him restrained for three days before he stopped trying to kill anyone that touched him in the process of trying to treat him. Even then, he watched everyone that came near him with an unblinking intensity, woke at the slightest noise, and flinched away from physical contact with anyone not in his cell.

He point-blank refused to speak to the shrinks that came around and tried to talk to the survivors. He simply favored them with poisonous glares and numerous projectiles aimed at their heads until they gave up and left. The only reason he got released instead of being packed away into a facility of some kind when they got to Earth was because he slipped through the cracks. At least this time, it was his own choice. He wanted no part of Starfleet's 'help'. Thankfully, they were so swamped with helping the other survivors and trying to pretend to the galaxy at large that everything was fine that it made it easy to just walk away. He later ensured that every trace that he’d ever been to Tarsus IV was erased from his records.

He returned home to find Sam long gone, having run away shortly after Jim had left for Tarsus IV, and Frank alone in the house. Things get incredibly violent incredibly quickly. Jim may have been in horrifying shape physically, but he had enough anger to fuel a starship with, and nowhere to aim it except at Frank. Frank, for his part couldn't seem to stop antagonizing Jim. Jim made it, if only barely, to his sixteenth birthday, immediately left the house, and struck out on his own. He also began the process of having himself emancipated.

Winona still hadn’t shown up or called by the time Jim left, and Jim wasn’t entirely sure she even knew there was a problem, never mind that Jim was in the middle of it. What pissed him off was that he went to the trouble of sending her a message about a month after he got back to Earth, and she never responded to it. And he couldn’t track Sam at all. It was like Sam had disappeared off the face of the universe. It made the decision to leave that much easier.

Once clear of Frank and with a place of his own, however small and pathetic, Jim had begun a ruthless regimen of diet and exercise to bring himself back up to where he should have been physically. He drove himself incessantly, both physically and mentally, completing his final two years of school in one. 

Then he went on to seek out trainers and scholars and learned from them. In the wake of Tarsus, Jim had made himself two solemn promises. He was never going to let anyone have power over him ever again, and he was never going to be helpless ever again. His physical training and continued educational efforts were a huge part of that, alongside his emancipation. Jim was resolved to be his own man and follow his own path, regardless of what anyone tried to do or say to the contrary.

Seeking out new instructors, not so coincidentally, took him far away from Iowa, much to his relief. He wandered for years. He looked up and learned from a variety of people, on a variety of subjects. He developed a taste for early writings, in every culture, Shakespeare being his favorite, though some xenohistorical writings, especially Vulcan and Klingon, were as good or better. Jim especially enjoyed the Klingon writings. Jim could get behind the sort of philosophy that race espoused.

He never once heard from Winona and when he was eighteen, he wrote her off entirely. Sam, on the other hand, contacted him about a year after Tarsus IV. Evidently, word had only then reached him about Tarsus. He’d settled on a tiny colony world that had only sporadic news updates from the rest of the Federation, and the whole Tarsus mess had been covered up to a large degree. Sam was clearly relieved beyond words to finally talk to Jim face-to-face, and they exchanged contact information. Jim made Sam his emergency contact when he gave up on Winona.

He was twenty-two when he found himself in Iowa again. He got drunk at a bar near a Starfleet facility which was, in hindsight, his first mistake. His second mistake was when he, rather understandably, had hit on the smoking-hot girl. That went predictably badly, mostly because he was drunk. Then Cupcake and his herd had gotten involved. Frankly, the only reason they managed to win that fight was because there were four of them and Jim was drunk off his ass.

The fact Jim was drunk saved both himself and Pike, after Pike broke up the fight and chased the cadets out. Jim had wanted to punch Pike in the face when he started with the George crap. He was, however, drunk enough that he wasn't sure of his aim. Better, he wasn't quite drunk enough to think that hitting a Starfleet Captain was a brilliant idea. Still, it was a damn close call.

Jim had more issues with Starfleet than he could throw a stick at and that was without bringing Tarsus into things. He loathed Starfleet almost as much as he did George. He'd fully intended to blow Pike off and go about his life as it had been. Then halfway through his all-night bike ride, he sobered up enough to have another 'bright' idea. 

Starfleet wanted and needed Golden Boy George, did they? And were willing to take Jim in the hope he'd be George Mark Two? Well then, he'd indulge them. And fuck with them in every way humanly possible. See how fast he could get kicked out. Teach them to be careful what they wished for. Petty, yes, but Jim was just angry and reckless enough not to care.

So he went, and met Bones. Bones ended up being one of the bright spots of that first year. Bones could not have given less of a fuck who Jim was, just like the staff and kids at the school on Tarsus IV. It took nearly a month for Bones to realize that Jim was 'that' Kirk's son, and when he did figure it out, all he did was shrug and go on with life. Better, while Bones didn't carouse the way Jim did at first, he didn't bitch at Jim and try to be all self-righteous. They were both there for reasons other than wanting to be a part of Almighty Starfleet, so neither of them could exactly throw stones at each other.

Uhura, ironically enough, became another friend, despite their booze-soaked and less than impressive first meeting. It helped that she was another one that didn't give a damn who he was, or who his daddy was. It also helped that Jim found out Uhura beat Cupcake legless for 'defending her honor' less than forty-eight hours after Cupcake and his crew had taken Jim on. She hadn't wanted or needed the assistance, and had found his assumption that she was helpless insulting as all hell. 

It took Jim two weeks to find a security recording of the whole thing, which he copied and kept tucked somewhere safe. He'd laughed himself sick and gotten more than a little turned on watching Uhura hand the guy his ass, verbally and physically. It was an object lesson in not underestimating anyone. It was also an object lesson to not piss off a communications specialist who could speak a dozen or so languages fluently, and wasn't afraid to cuss you out in all of them. Jim adored Uhura more than a little for that stunt.

Better still, Uhura was whip-sharp with a dry, sarcastic as hell sense of humor. The two of them quickly settled into a big-sister/little-brother sort of arrangement. Jim took perverse pleasure in trying to wind Uhura into knots and flirted with her shamelessly. Uhura seemed to take an unholy pleasure in meeting his hijinks with a serene calm and completely ignored his flirting. She also enjoyed saying things to him in languages he had barely known existed, never mind had been able to speak. He spent a lot of time trying to figure out what she said to him, driven by his own damnable curiosity. Of course, he had to try to one-up her. Which went predictably poorly, given she was as much a certified genius at languages as he was in general.

Uhura's refusal to tell him her first name swiftly became a running gag between them. Jim could have ended it any time he wanted. It wasn't like it would have been hard to get a hold of her records and find out. However, he had a lot of fun trying to trick her into telling him, and she had an equal amount of fun driving him insane by not falling for his tricks.

Unfortunately, Starfleet Academy was not quite all fun and games. Despite his best intentions, Jim became fascinated by the classes. Well, the subjects, anyway. The instructors, for the most part, could take a flying leap.

Two of the instructors openly ridiculed him whenever he got within ten miles of them. Two others fawned on him like he was the second coming. Most of the rest probably thought like those two groups, but were polite enough not to say anything where he could hear it.

All in all, it made acting like a complete ass those first few months a whole hell of a lot easier. In class, he slept, laughed, played games on his datapad, talked to his classmates, and even talked over the instructors - generally to correct what they were saying. That last one annoyed the ever-loving hell out of the instructors he did that to. He stayed up so late it was pointless to try to sleep, partied hard enough for three, and exploited every loophole in the rulebook he could find - ruthlessly. All while he somehow maintained a scholastic average in the top two percentile. He wasn't top of his year, but he was in the top ten in every class and in the top five in some of them. Given how much hell he was raising, that was nothing less than spectacular.

He saw a lot of Pike, who was a member of the Academy's board. It occurred mostly in the aftermath of some incident or other, when he got brought up for a reprimand. Pike was, to put it mildly, far from pleased with Jim's antics. Jim was pretty damn sure Pike's general plan had been to nudge Jim in the right direction and then stand back and watch as George Mark Two wowed the crowds. It pissed Pike off that Jim was so far from playing his game it wasn't funny. Jim took a perverse pride in screwing with Pike's plans.

It all came to a head about three months into Jim's Academy career. He could smell the expulsion coming, at that point. It was hardly a surprise when he got thrown into Pike's office again after his latest stunt. Pike started bitching at him about not living up to his father's legacy, as usual.

Jim just sort of snapped. Completely did not give a shit about the whole 'captain in the fleet' and 'member of the board' thing, because he knew damn well he'd be getting expelled in short order, so who gave a fuck? He gave it to Pike with all four barrels. Pike yelled back and, for a few minutes there, Jim was wondering if they were going to actually come to blows.

Then right in the middle of the fight, Pike suddenly shut up, and gave Jim the weirdest look he'd ever been subjected to up to that point. It cut the wind out of Jim's sails enough that he stopped bellowing, mostly in confusion. Then Pike apologized; which marked the first time anyone had ever apologized for the George Kirk shit. Jim gave Pike a dumbfounded stare for a minute. Pike took advantage of his shock to send him packing.

It didn't fix things completely, of course. Especially not right away. Jim did start to slow down with the antics. Pike in turn started to step up, running interference with the worst of the 'George' offenders. He also completely shut up about George himself, and never actually mentioned the man again except when they were in public and it was expected.

Jim started to find his feet after that, to enjoy the Academy and thrive under the challenges thrown his way. He also started to like Pike, much to his own surprise, and continued to spend a good deal of time in the man's office, though for more pleasant purposes than the first three months.

As he'd predicted, though that had been a joke at the time, Jim was well on his way to completing the four-year program a year early when he had to face the Kobayashi Maru. He'd heard about the test, of course, and had been pre-disposed to despise it. Actually taking the test pissed him off to levels he hadn't felt since Kodos because the test was sadistic and defeatist. All it did was teach people to give up when the going got rough, and Kirk had never, would never, be able to do that.

The test offended him so much he set out to win the unwinnable, for a given value of win. He was completely aware that someone, somewhere, was going to throw a temper tantrum about what he was planning to do. That said, someone had to slap those assholes in the face with the fact that the Kobayashi Maru scenario was probably nine-tenths of what was wrong with Starfleet as a whole. It taught cowardice, diffidence, and to never bother to think outside the box. It taught people that they were already dead, so why bother fighting. What the cadets needed to be taught was courage, a refusal to call it quits, and adaptability in the face of the unknown and unpredictable.

He wasn't quite prepared, though, for a sarcastic, vindictive, merciless Vulcan on a mission to utterly destroy him on a personal level, rather than acquiesce to a debate on the merits of the scenario. It sort of made Jim grateful that all evidence that he knew Tarsus IV existed, never mind had been there for the slaughter, had been erased from his records. He was fairly sure Spock would have tried to work that in there somewhere in his efforts to discredit Jim if he'd known. If Spock had done that, Starfleet would have been minus a Vulcan officer. Jim would not have reacted well to Spock tearing into him over that.

Jim honestly hadn't expected Bones to break the rules and get him aboard the Enterprise. He'd actually been willing to stay, despite the fact it was clear some sort of serious shit was going down. Vulcans just did not start screaming for help on a whim. He had not been grateful to Bones, because the bastard's chosen method of getting him aboard fucking sucked.

Then, half out of his mind with drugs and reactions to them, he heard 'lightning storm in space' and it was like someone flipped a switch in his brain. All he could think of was getting to the bridge and stopping the ship. He knew down to the marrow of his bones that as bad as everyone thought the situation was, it was actually about ten thousand times worse.

He hated it when he was right. Though Spock actually admitting he was right was a surprise. Evidently, the bastard was able to put his pique at Kirk's flaunting of logic aside when the evidence supported Jim's assertion they were headed straight for massive trouble.

From there, it was more or less the adrenaline rush from hell, combined with repeatedly getting his ass kicked as he discovered just how inadequate his combat training was. He repeatedly made a mental note to bitch at his instructors if he lived through that mess. Someone, somewhere, should have come up with something that helped a human deal with someone three times stronger and a whole hell of a lot more durable than a human was.

The look on Spock's face when he beamed back aboard the Enterprise with his father and some of the Vulcan Elders, hand outstretched, would stay with Jim a long, long time. He knew that look. Like hell did he have the first idea of what to say to the guy.

Then Spock lost his mind and decided a conference was the best way to deal with Nero, who was on his way to destroy Earth. Kirk couldn't even begin to find the logic there, and made it really damn clear he was not ok with Spock's idea. That got him thrown off the bridge. Unfortunately, Jim had never lost his tendency to react violently when grabbed by someone unexpectedly, especially when he was running on adrenaline. He started whaling on the security team almost instinctively and then his world went dark so fast and unexpectedly he couldn't even begin to resist it.

He woke up on Hoth. He'd watched the old science fiction movies when he was a kid, and this place was a ringer for that fictional planet. He then got chased by something that looked a lot like the creature that ate Solo's mount in that movie. Before the thing could catch up with Jim, it got the shit beat out of it by, well, Jim hadn't exactly waited around to figure out what the hell the new critter was, other than big and red. He just ran like hell. Not that it had done him all that much good. Then someone came out of nowhere and waved a blazing stick in the thing's face and it backed off. Jim, much to his surprise, found himself face to face with a positively ancient-looking Vulcan. Who gave him a very odd look before calling Jim by his full name.

The next thirty minutes or so were the most fucked-up shit he had ever experienced, which said something. The old guy had no fucking clue. At all. Even when Jim asked about his dad, the old guy still didn't get that Jim was not anything like the James T. Kirk the old guy had known. But for once, Jim cut someone with preconceived notions of who he ought to be some slack. The old guy has had a fucking horrible couple of days. It was a miracle the old guy was sane. Jim could deal with him thinking he was identical to 'his' James Kirk until the guy got his legs back under him.

He and Scotty headed back for the Enterprise with a thin-ass excuse for a plan. Jim was nowhere near prepared for Spock when he set out to make him reveal his compromised status. As bad as getting beaten by the Romulans on the drill had been, this was worse. Jim was pretty damn sure that Spock wasn't holding back. The Romulans had been contemptuous of Human strength and fighting ability, and had put forth what they thought was enough effort to kick Jim and Sulu off the drill. Spock was in a blind rage. 

The hits came insanely hard and brutally fast. Jim was barely able to fend off the worst of them, lashing out instinctively under the assault despite not actually wanting to beat Spock into the ground. Then Spock really managed to nail him and he was on his back. Spock was on him in a second, trying to choke the shit out of him. Jim thought he was done for when the pressure abruptly eased. It actually eased before someone (Spock's dad, he found out later) called Spock's name. Spock didn't stop choking him, but between one moment and the next, he stopped trying to actively kill Jim. Then his dad yelled and Spock turned him loose and declared himself unfit to command and walked off, leaving a seriously confused Jim in his wake.

The confusion didn't lessen in the least when Spock came back and volunteered to go beat the hell out of the bad guys and steal their toys. Jim, not entirely convinced Spock wasn't going to treat it like a suicide mission, elected himself to go along in some dim hope that it'd keep Spock from doing something stupid. 

Despite how bad things were, he had to fight to keep from cracking up when Uhura came in and kissed the shit out of Spock, and he said her name. When Kirk asked to confirm, Spock was quick to claim neutral ground. Jim had known Uhura was going out with someone, but she'd been keeping it quiet, and now he knew why. It wasn't against the rules to date an instructor, but people did still get dirty looks and suspicion tossed their way regarding their grades. It was also very clear that Jim had come up in conversation at some point. Spock's rapid backpedal when Jim commented on Uhura's first name was a dead giveaway. That was, after all, Jim and Uhura's game. Bones knew about it, but he was the only one Jim had told, and Jim was fairly sure Uhura had been as tight-lipped.

The first time he got a hint that something weird was going on was when they transported to the Narada and got dropped into the middle of a shit-ton of Romulans. For two guys who had been doing their damndest to either piss each other off or kill each other, he and Spock were insanely in synch so fast it made his head spin. Hell, he hadn't even had to give voice to 'go interrogate that guy'. Just the fact that he'd switched to stun on his phaser was enough for Spock to figure it out. It hadn't been one-way either. When he thought about it later, Jim was fairly sure he had been picking something up from Spock too. He'd been following the bastard and shooting at shit that he hadn't been able to see but was somehow aware of. It didn't stop there, either. When they got back to the ship, they were walking in synch and standing shoulder-to-shoulder like they'd done it every day of their lives.

Jim didn't really have much time to contemplate the mystery at that point, though. Roughly ten minutes after they blew clear of the Narada's final black hole, the adrenaline rush Jim had been riding since the whole mess started finally drained out of him. Less than a minute after that, he blacked out from the pain. He woke up almost a day later in Sickbay to an epically pissed and ranting Bones, who had Spock cornered and was brandishing a hypo at him, thoroughly pissed off at all the damage Jim had taken and blaming Spock for it.


	2. S'chn T'gai Spock

S'chn T'gai Spock

A/N: Underlined text is a direct quote from the movie.

There are two things S'chn T'gai Spock has always known: one, he was a survivor; two, Vulcans were blatant liars.

The first instance of his survival skills was self-evident. Vulcans and Humans were not naturally capable of crossbreeding. That Spock was the only living Human-Vulcan hybrid indicated the success of the attempts to combine Vulcan and Human DNA. It also indicated the sheer, blind luck that had guarded his initial conception, and his stubborn refusal to die thereafter.

Vulcan children were more developed than their same-age Human counterparts, and Spock's mental makeup was largely Vulcan. So Spock, at three, was aware that he was unique; that he was the only hybrid to survive birth and be more than temporarily viable. He was, as far as the healers could determine, fully functional and fully viable as a sapient being save for the fact he was sterile.

He was aware that he was an object of curiosity to Vulcans in general and the medical community in particular. No one had any idea how he would develop or how he would compare to full-blooded Vulcans or Humans. He was watched and his doings recorded, but it was not with an eye towards proving he was inferior. Granted, there had been a few who looked upon his existence unfavorably but it had not been a community-wide perception.

That changed with brutal rapidity after Nero’s appearance. The revelation of the Rihannsu, and their close biological relationship to Vulcans, had not gone down well. Some Humans reacted badly to the revelation: accusing Vulcans of deceit, and of harboring their Rihannsu relations amongst their number, among other things. It was nowhere near all Humans who stated this, but it was enough. Enough of those making such claims held positions of power in the Federation for many Vulcans to become xenophobic (or more xenophobic, as the case may have been).

Sarek went, in the space of a year, from being a respected ambassador who happened to have a human wife and a half-human son to being mocked and having epithets flung at him. Frequently to his face, if only once by any one person before Sarek shut them up and shut them down in his inimitable style. 'Race traitor' was the most polite epithet, if such illogical insults could ever be called polite. He lost much influence with the Council, despite being the First Son of the most pre-eminent House on Vulcan.

Only among a section of the House of Surak was Sarek safe from the vicious, poisoned tongues of gossip. The House of Surak had always prided itself on its dedication to logic and IDIC, in honor of Surak himself. Unfortunately not all the members of the House lived up to the House's ideals. Fully half the clan was every bit as bad as the general Vulcan population, depriving Sarek, Amanda, and Spock of that safe harbor. The only consolation was that T'pau, their Clan Mother and leader of all Vulcan, did not suffer from this broken logic. She did not permit such poison to be spewed in her presence, and threw her weight behind Sarek, Amanda, and Spock.

That was Spock's first exposure to just how much Vulcans lie. Insofar as he could see, there was no logic to be found in the increasing xenophobia. This was especially obvious in light of the supposedly treasured belief in IDIC; which was clearly also a lie. When put to the test, what seemed like nine-tenths of Vulcan promptly showed they actually didn't believe in logic or IDIC at all and had only been giving both beliefs lip service only.

Sarek became far more grim and extremely protective of Amanda in the first couple of years after the Narada's arrival. Not that Spock disagreed with his father's position on the matter. He'd seen the way an increasing number of Vulcans eyed Amanda. Were it not for their tenuous clinging to what logic they had left and their wariness of Sarek, Spock was fairly sure a few of them might have killed her to remove the blight of her presence.

Amanda bore the sudden shift in everyone's attitudes with a grace and dignity that shamed all who vilified her. Spock gradually became able to perceive the steel in his mother's spine and the cleverness of her tongue as well as her grace and dignity, as he got older. Amanda was an expert at insulting someone in a way that could be (and usually was) misconstrued by the unwary as an approbation. She was not shy of doing it to anyone, even the members of the High Council on the rare occasions one of those august persons deigned to address her.

What he didn't figure out right away was that Sarek was also shielding and protecting Spock. He finally figured it out when he was six, the day an older schoolmate and his friends tried to get him to react emotionally for the thirty-fifth time since Spock had started counting their spectacularly inept attempts. Unfortunately, this time the bullies finally hit on a successful ploy and Spock finally lost control because they called his mother a whore.

Thanks to the parental bond, his father and mother had been aware of Spock's loss of control instantly. Sarek had probably been en route to the school before Spock had even finished beating the boy into the floor. Spock later decided that Sarek had to nerve-pinch Amanda to keep her from coming as well. Spock had felt the exceedingly odd combination of pride, fury, and concern radiating from her. It was a particular combination that never failed to incite her to action of some sort, though Spock had never been the cause of the emotions before.

The fact Spock has a parental bond with Amanda was one of their family's biggest secrets. Sarek and Amanda had never mentioned it when Spock was born, except to T'pau, who checked on such things. Once things went sour they had every reason to keep it unknown to the general populace. Spock sometimes wondered how people would react to the news were they to find out. It would probably be quite entertaining, as the general consensus was that Humans were incapable of any mental bond of any description.

Spock would eventually swear to always remember the advice Sarek gave him the day he attacked the bully. He'd been too young at that point to fully understand what Sarek had been trying to tell him - or even realize its import - but he'd come to understand it not too much later. It was advice he chose to live his life by: "As ambassador to Earth, it is my duty to observe and understand Human behavior. Marrying your mother was logical. Spock, you are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is: which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

On the surface these were cold and harsh words, but Sarek's emotions had made it quite clear it was anything but. Love, pride, joy, and more made it clear that marrying Amanda had, yes, been logical but for reasons far removed from anything to do with Sarek's job as ambassador. That had just been the vehicle by which Sarek had encountered her, nothing more. 

It had been logical to marry Amanda because Sarek loved her. Therefore, while logic could and did assist with the control of emotions, emotions could and did guide one's logic. This was, to say the least, radical thinking for a Vulcan. Yet Sarek was not espousing the forsaking of logic for emotion, as many would presume. Rather, Sarek had proposed the possibility of pursuing pure logic, yet not fully forsaking emotion as did the Kolinahr adepts.

Nor had Sarek sought to force Spock to do as he bid, which was a father's right by Vulcan custom. By telling Spock he was fully capable of choosing his own destiny, Sarek had indicated that Spock was free to make his own choice in this matter. Furthermore, he had made it clear that Spock did indeed have a choice to make. Spock had simply been too young to fully understand all Sarek had been trying to tell him.

The thing that Spock hadn't quite caught on to at age six was that there were more than two paths before him. There was more than being pure Vulcan or being pure Human. The concept of blending the two did not occur to him for many years.

There was one thing that was decided that day, thanks to the way his father's mind vibrated with pride for his defense of his mother. That day, despite his youth, they forged a wordless alliance: the woman both of them loved above all else would be protected, come what may.

In the aftermath, Sarek found it logical to teach Spock how to both defend himself and to fight aggressively. After all, not everyone could or would proceed with matters logically and physical confrontations were therefore all but inevitable. It was logical to ensure that Spock had as great a chance of winning the inevitable confrontations as possible.

Vulcans generally espoused a pacifistic approach and preferred to defend only. Thus this was Spock's first exposure to just how much one could twist logic to permit pretty much anything. Over the next few years, Sarek taught him not only Suus Mahna, which was wholly defensive, but a far more aggressive Vulcan martial art that hailed from the days before Surak. The more aggressive art had fallen out of favor and common use in the wake of Vulcans embracing logic. However, in a fine display of irony, it had been kept alive by Surak's own House. Sarek also taught him how to shoot with a variety of weapons and every wilderness survival trick Sarek had learned over the years.

Outside their home, Spock took refuge in being more Vulcan than his schoolmates. Despite other attempts at provocation, he never again lost control of his emotions in public. He hid behind the bulwark of logic. As he grew older, he began to twist logic to suit his purposes in a deliberate imitation of his father. His early attempts lacked the subtle mastery of the art that Sarek possessed, but he continually improved. He also made a point of outperforming everyone scholastically. Not that it was truly difficult to accomplish. Whether by accident or design, Spock found he easily outstripped the scholastic performances of his agemates from very early on.

When Spock was seven, the time had come for him to be linked to his future bondmate. Sarek point-blank refused to put Spock through the ritual. Sarek refused to link his son to someone who, in all likelihood, despised him. As Sarek pointed out to Amanda when they discussed Spock's participation in the ritual, they had no idea if Spock would even go through Pon Farr. If he did not, he would have no need of a mental link to his mate to anchor him against the Time's ravages. Even if he ended up going through Pon Farr Spock was, as Sarek pointed out yet again, fully capable of determining his own fate and therefore finding his own mate before his Time hit.

It was, to be brutally honest, a relief to Spock to not have to have someone linked to him like that. Oh, there was a chance that whatever girl Sarek managed to drum up wouldn't hate him, but that chance was slim indeed. Spock much preferred the idea of having the chance to find someone that he liked and who liked him in return on his own; of having a chance at the relationship he saw between his mother and father.

Needless to say, not everyone took the news well. Most alarming to Spock had been T'pau. She summoned Sarek, Amanda, and Spock before her and demanded that Sarek explain himself and his break with tradition - as was her right as Clan Mother. Spock had been forced to ruthlessly repress the urge to hide behind his father when they arrived at T'pau's residence. Her status as the Clan Mother of the House of Surak aside, T'pau was an incredibly intimidating woman; especially to a seven-year-old.

What followed was one of the most eye-opening encounters in Spock's life and the first time Spock was exposed to exactly why no one challenged Sarek more than once, verbally or physically. He neither shouted nor cursed. He used logic like a blade, folded and forged to his will, and presented his conclusions as the only reasonable conclusions that one could reach, if one possessed a mind and any dreg of logic at all. All said with the connotation, unvoiced but nevertheless clearly present, that one was lacking in intelligence, wisdom, and logic if one came to any other conclusion than the one Sarek espoused. A state of affairs that grieved and disappointed Sarek deeply, but he would attempt to lead the erring personage to the correct path nevertheless. Additionally, once they had accepted the correct path, those he led to it would be grateful to Sarek for his wisdom and perseverance.

It was, to say the least, a masterful performance. One that Spock did not fully appreciate until he was a good deal older but that still impressed his seven-year-old self immensely. Especially when T'pau bowed before Sarek's argument, agreed his logic was sound, and that Spock would not be forced to go through the bonding ceremony. Sarek had gotten the leader of all Vulcan and his Head of House to agree to something she had initially been opposed to. That was a not inconsiderable feat and one which did not lose its impact when Spock realized that T'pau had not needed Sarek to turn his oratorical gift on her. 

He found out later as an adult that T'pau had agreed with Sarek. Unfortunately such a breach of tradition, especially on something so (normally) vital to Vulcan well-being, required the tradition-breaker be called to account for their actions. Not even T'pau was above that particular law. Had it been any other matter, she would have been able to ignore it.

Of course, the fact he was not bonded caused problems with his peers. Spock had been actively shunned since the arrival of the Narada by his agemates. He had no compatriots with whom he spent time outside of school; friends, for lack of a more logical term. Even though he had retreated behind the bulwark of logic and made a point of never exhibiting emotion, his agemates persisted in persecuting him as did his teachers and elders. That he had no bondmate was further fodder for them all and was commented on endlessly.

Some days it made him want to beat the crap out of them. He longed to demand an explanation of where the logic was in vilifying, mocking, and otherwise treating a child ill for something he could not control. Where was the logic in assuming that Humans were lesser creatures than Vulcans? Where was the admiration and acceptance of infinite diversity?

He ceased all attempts at interacting peaceably with his peers, or anyone else aside from his mother and father. He kept to himself. His father got him a sehlat in an effort to provide him with some sort of interaction aside from his parents and Spock did indeed take a great deal of comfort from I-Chaya over the next eleven years.

The only benefit to those years was the fact that he had been able to put his full attention on developing his considerable intelligence. He threw himself into his schoolwork, rapidly outpacing his agemates and the next oldest class. He also trained himself conscientiously in the various martial arts and survival skills Sarek imparted to him.

Unfortunately, he was still very lonely. That loneliness initially made the thought of attempting Kolinahr that much more tempting. If logic was to be his only refuge, why not go that extra step? The only thing that made him hesitant about it was his mother and whether or not she'd see him pursuing Kolinahr as a betrayal.

He'd still been too young to fully understand the advice Sarek had given him when he'd been six. As a result, he had still been stuck on the idea that there were only two paths before him. Even undergoing the kahs-wan coming of age ceremony at age seventeen did not entirely change his mind. He did come to the conclusion, during that arduous rite of passage, that if he was to have any chance at peace he would probably have to leave Vulcan entirely.

In light of that realization, applying to Starfleet as well as the Vulcan Academy had been logical. It had also been a bit of an illogical whim, if he was honest with himself. He was under no illusions that he would fit in any better at Starfleet. He would be the first Vulcan to attend there after all, which was bound to make things awkward at first. His visual resemblance to Vulcans would also be problematic in that everyone would expect him to *be* Vulcan.

It wasn't until he was before the Vulcan Council to determine his eligibility for the Vulcan Institute and yet again his mother's supposed inferiority was brought up that he realized there had never really been a choice to be made after all. For all its faults, Starfleet was at least completely comfortable allowing non-humans in its midst. There might be misunderstanding and prejudice but it would be individual, rather than species-wide. He could no longer tolerate Vulcan hypocrisy. At that point, even the shield of total logic as supposedly attainable at Gol sounded hollow and false.

To Spock's relief, after his initial surprise at Spock's refusal of the Council's recommendation Sarek supported Spock's decision fully. Spock was actually able to feel the shift in his father's emotions as he recovered from the surprise. Amanda had been outright jubilant at Spock's decision. So he went to Starfleet with his parents' full approval. 

Before he went, Sarek had another talk with him and this time, Spock finally understood the underlying message in Sarek's advice to his six-year-old self. He meditated on that advice extensively on the trip to Earth. He eventually made the decision to continue to pursue logic and Vulcan ideals but to permit himself to experience emotions, even if he did not allow those emotions to become obvious to anyone around him. 

To his surprise, he found something of a niche at Starfleet. Oh, everyone automatically assumed he was of pure Vulcan stock and treated him accordingly but Spock swiftly discovered that the Human understanding of Vulcan culture and behavioral norms was incomplete. Few, if any, noticed the inconsistencies in his behavior that resulted from his allowing himself to experience emotions; inconsistencies that would have been glaring, blindingly obvious faults to Vulcans. He was able to experiment and find a happy medium between emotionless logic and Human emotionalism. As he had predicted, there were a few people that disapproved of him for one reason or another.

Still, it was a very lonely time. Spock had no real friends during his stint as a student. A large part of it was due to not exactly knowing how to go about forming friendships, since he'd not had anything of the sort on Vulcan. Even if he'd been familiar with the process, it would logically be different when attempting to befriend a Human and Spock hadn't a clue where to start. Some of his isolation had, however, been due to people respecting the Vulcan tendency for standoffishness or being a bit too intimidated to approach him. Again, it was something he had not, at the time, known how to handle or change.

He graduated with full honors at the top of his class. Much to his pleasure, both Sarek and Amanda made it to his graduation. Even more remarkable, they brought with them a small gift from T'pau, a clear sign of her continued support. They spent a few days together before he shipped out on his first ship assignment. 

That first assignment had been a challenge. Spock swiftly discovered that while his penchant for exactitude was an enormous boon to the execution of his duties in the Science division, it was not so successful in other venues. His commanding officers found his stiff, formal precision off-putting and largely dismissed him as either arrogant or someone who did whatever they could to appease those in authority. Fortunately, the trip was a short one.

His stint on a ship may have been uncomfortably close to a failure, but the Academy had found another use for his intelligence and capabilities. Upon his return, he was asked to become an instructor in the computer and communications classes. This, Spock found most agreeable. Putting together a curriculum that challenged the abilities of beings from multiple races was quite rewarding.

He met Nyota his first year as an instructor and her first year as a cadet. She was an incredibly gifted linguist, and strikingly beautiful. She had a calm serenity and self-confidence that equaled that of any Vulcan. She was also a bit older than most cadets and only two years younger than himself. Spock would not go so far as to say he was smitten but he hadn't been too far from it.

He did not attempt to speak to her of his attraction. He was utterly convinced that she would not return his regard. He was, after all, alien in more than one sense of the word as well as completely unfamiliar with human customs as regarded the wooing of a mate. He contented himself with admiring her from a polite distance. He got quite a surprise when she cornered him after class one day early in her third year and asked him to dinner under the pretense of discussing something that had come up in class.

Spock was shortly grateful that humans had abolished the somewhat illogical laws that had made it illegal for an instructor or superior officer to be romantically involved with a student or junior officer even when said student or junior officer was past the age of consent. There were no restrictions on their slow-growing relationship, so long as the student or junior officer was not coerced or shown blatant favoritism of course. 

He could have done far, far worse than a linguist of Nyota's skill with whom to attempt his first intimate relationship. Spock was prone to admittedly stilted, stiff verbal sallies. He lapsed into Vulcan sometimes in an effort to communicate something he didn't know the Standard equivalent of and when he stumbled onto uncertain footing in a conversation. Nyota's ability to parse body language, her fluency in Vulcan, and her ability to fill in the verbal gaps helped immensely to bridge the gaps between them and prevented a number of misunderstandings.

He was aware of Jim Kirk long before he actually met the man. Kirk's entrance into the Academy had been rather notable to him due in large part to the fact he had flirted with Nyota, who told him of the encounter. She had been amused by Kirk's juvenile attempts to garner her attention and thoroughly outraged by Cadet Giotto's chauvinism. Beyond that, however, Spock knew nothing save that Kirk embarked on a wholly illogical attempt to ignore, bend, break, and circumvent as many Starfleet rules and regulations as possible.

Spock had been intensely curious as to how such a volatile person could not only succeed but excel in the Academy classes while simultaneously flaunting every rule and regulation he could get a hold of. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately given Kirk's penchant for trouble, Spock never had Kirk in any of the classes he taught, preventing a closer examination of the young Human. Kirk was in the command track, which precluded any specialization. The classes Spock taught were specialized classes that only Communications and Science personnel needed. Spock was of the belief that Kirk clearly did not have the aptitude necessary to thrive in Communications or Computers classes.

Or so Spock had presumed. Even Nyota's tales of the man presented him as somewhat juvenile and quite exasperating in his behavior and of questionable intellectual prowess. He had taken these comments at face value, being unaware of the tendency for Humans to exaggerate the faults of those they were close to in conversation. Spock remained ignorant of Kirk's true abilities until the man succeeded in hacking the Kobayashi Maru scenario, which indicated a very, very high capability with computer programming. Spock himself had programmed the scenario and he was one of the best in programming that the Academy had ever seen. For Kirk to be able to subvert a program Spock had created spoke to his skill.

That said, Kirk's reason for doing so evaded Spock's best attempts at figuring it out. Insofar as Spock could ascertain, this was just the last in a long line of flouting rules and regulations. Spock came to the decision that Kirk was clearly unfit for Starfleet service and that an inquest was called for. Unfortunately, the inquest (interrupted as it had been) provided neither answers nor solutions to the problem that was Cadet Kirk. Not that he had cared, once the reason for the interruption had been announced. Vulcan was under attack. His parents were in danger. Even at that point, his logic had been teetering on the edge of a knife.

Kirk's appearance on the Enterprise had been an unpleasant surprise but Spock had been stunned at the speed with which Kirk had put the pieces together to figure out what the problem at Vulcan was. It was a rather stunning display of logical thinking achieved by highly illogical means. This was his second clue that there was more to Kirk than met the eye, though he hadn't realized that at the time.

His logic had taken a severe hit when Chekov told them Vulcan would die in minutes. Spock was well aware that his father and mother would be in the Katric Ark with the other Elders, trying to absorb as many of the katras as they could. His parents and the elders had that long to live unless he got them out of there. He promptly bolted for the transporter room and then across the barren, self-destructing surface of his home planet. His relief at seeing them both alive and unharmed in the Katric Ark had been immense.

He was later gratified by the fact he hadn't blacked out under the backlash of the deaths of millions of Vulcans on top of the loss of his mother. He later discovered that he was one of a small number who had been able to remain on their feet and even marginally functional. The Elders, insulated by the possession of extra katras, had been fine; as had the half handful of Gol Masters and Kholinar Adepts that had not been on Vulcan. The rest of the surviving Vulcans had not been so lucky: only a few dozen had managed to stay functional. Every other Vulcan in the galaxy had been brought to their knees, many of them knocked unconscious by the backlash.

Much of the next hour or so was an indistinct blur to him. He had evidently been moving and thinking on autopilot, defaulting to something as close to pure Vulcan logic as he'd ever been capable of; a state that, of course, the highly illogical James T. Kirk disapproved of and objected to strenuously. Later, Spock would be willing to admit Kirk had a point: his decision would have meant the death of Earth and possibly other planets. His logic, such as it was, had clearly suffered from the death of his people and his world. Why else had Spock decided to go to the Laurentian system to confer with the rest of the fleet or maroon Kirk on Delta Vega? He ended up being incredibly grateful for the latter decision later - much, much later.

When Kirk showed back up with a guest in tow, Spock had more or less managed to get his legs back under him. He was still a bit shaky, but he was thinking a bit more clearly. Or so he had thought at the time. He was instantaneously aware of Kirk's gambit when he and his guest were brought to the bridge. Kirk meant to expose him as emotionally compromised. Spock did not intend to permit that because he wasn't compromised; at least not the way he perceived it.

He hadn't counted on Kirk's inexplicable ability to drive even a Gol Master to a frothing rage. Kirk went straight for the sorest spot Spock had at the time and hit it fast and hard. Even knowing that Kirk was deliberately trying to provoke him didn't stop the inevitable. Spock could no more have stopped himself from attacking Kirk than he could have stopped breathing and continued to live. 

He had ceased to be capable of not rising to his mother's defense a very long time ago. He would have risen to the bait even if she had been alive. That she had died and he saw it as being somewhat his fault as he should have held on to her, only ensured the success of Kirk's gambit all the sooner. But when Spock attacked him, something happened that he had not come anywhere near expecting. The exact cause would forever remain a mystery to both himself and Jim.

Maybe it was the loss of his bond with his mother. Maybe it was the shock of feeling so many Vulcans die. Maybe it was how close his hand was to the usual psi-points. Maybe it was how enraged he was in that moment. Maybe it was, as he found out later, that Jim had very recently mind-melded with his older, alternate self. Whatever the cause, his mental shields were either destroyed or down and the moment his bare skin touched Jim's neck, Spock inadvertently got a good look at Jim's mind.

Vulcan minds were orderly and organized and, for lack of a better description, laid out logically. Amanda (the only other human mind Spock had experience with) had been remarkably similar mentally, with suitable Human variations. This was probably because of her mental bond with Sarek. She was bound to have been influenced by that, especially after so many years.

Jim's mind, on the other hand, was all bright colors, vivid impressions and - to Spock's view - complete chaos. Even in the middle of being choked half to death, Jim's mind was flickering from thought to thought in rapid succession. The vast majority of those thoughts had nothing to do with his current situation and how to get the heck out of it, which would have been a logical subject for him to be contemplating at the time. Flashes of memory were scattered about, with no clear organization or context. Beneath all that chaos laid Jim's emotions. Jim's emotions were a vast, deep well filled to the brim with stubborn determination, tightly controlled rage, bitter cynicism, loneliness, and a drive to survive. They equaled anything a Vulcan was capable of, which had been a bit of a surprise.

As Sarek had pointed out when Spock was a child, Vulcans felt deeply. They had, at one time, been ruled by their intense emotions. This was a state of affairs that had very nearly seen Vulcans wiped out multiple times before the time of Surak and logic. Humans, while emotional and fully capable of being passionate, did not feel as intensely as Vulcans. Their emotions were, as a rule, not all-consuming at all times. They were certainly capable of bursts of extremely intense emotions but that was not their default state.

Jim, however, was the exception to that rule. Jim was a creature of intense emotions and instinctive drives. In that moment of mental contact, Spock realized that Jim would never stop. Jim would happily march straight up to the mythical Human Devil, if such a creature actually existed, and beat him senseless if said Devil got in the way of Jim accomplishing some goal. Jim was literally incapable of giving up. He would keep fighting to win, to survive, until his last gasp and potentially beyond. He would do whatever it took to survive and as a result, would take everyone around him with him.

Spock was so surprised by that peek into Jim's mind that the contact jolted him most of the way out of his killing rage. His grip on Jim's throat eased even before Sarek called his name. He was so busy trying to get himself back under some modicum of control after that that he hadn't noticed that something seemed to slide into place in his mind, smoothing out a few of the jagged edges left by the losses he had suffered.

He retreated temporarily to get some measure of control after he'd declared himself emotionally compromised. To his surprise, his father followed him and reminded him of the conversation they'd had all those years ago. Sarek reasserted his stance as regarded Spock and his life and decisions. He also got the concept of 'I am still here. We will grieve, but as long as we live, she is not fully gone' across as best he knew how, given the circumstances. It was cold comfort, but better than nothing at the time. Once things had calmed down a touch, there would be time for both grief and comfort in full measure.

Once Spock had managed to get his emotional bearings again, he returned to the bridge. He arrived just in time to hear the crew hashing out a plan of attack on the Narada. He volunteered to be the one to carry it out. Somehow, he was completely unsurprised by the fact that Jim instantly volunteered himself to go along with him. Jim had clearly picked up on the fact that Spock was not operating at full efficiency and probably wanted to ensure Spock didn't do something else illogical. At least, illogical by Jim's measure, whatever that was.

Spock was aware, within moments of their arrival on the Narada, of the fact that Jim seemed to have synchronized himself to Spock or vice versa. They seemed to be all but sharing a single mind as they moved and dealt with the enemy. They ducked, dived, ran, and fired in concert. Spock found himself frequently doing so in response to targets he did not see himself and was aware of Jim doing likewise. He had not, however, analyzed the reason for the synchronicity at the time. It was hardly the time or place after all. 

He also became aware that something very, very odd was up as soon as he mentally interrogated the Rihannsu and discovered the 'black hole device' was, in fact, a ship. A ship, he swiftly discovered, that responded to his voice-print and called him 'Ambassador Spock'. Facts which did not phase Jim in the slightest. Spock's agile mind swiftly came to a very discomfiting conclusion to that data.

Spock pushed those thoughts aside as he piloted the stolen ship out of the Narada and destroyed the drill. He swiftly came to the decision that there was really only one way to end this conflict once and for all and piloted the ship into a collision course. He had fully expected to die, either when one of the missiles hit the ship or when he crashed into the Narada. The Enterprise's sudden appearance and subsequent destruction of the Narada's missiles was highly disconcerting. He was not sure whether to be disappointed or gratified at his rescue.

When they were back on the bridge and the immediate danger was over, Spock made due note to investigate at least the synchronicity after he became aware that Jim was in trouble. Spock called out for Sickbay and Doctor McCoy a split second before Jim suddenly sagged in his chair. It quickly became clear that Jim was succumbing to the myriad injuries he had received in his adventures since he snuck aboard the Enterprise.

There was a brief, mad scramble between himself, Nyota, Chekov, and Sulu to stabilize Jim's vitals before Doctor McCoy arrived. When Doctor McCoy did arrive, he all but literally kicked them away to deal with Jim himself. Despite his immediate, voluble verbal attack on all and sundry, Doctor McCoy moved with swift, efficient purpose. Moments later, Jim was on a gurney and Doctor McCoy was racing for Sickbay.

The bridge crew exchanged worried, apprehensive looks. Spock somewhat reluctantly resumed command until Jim was back on his feet; if he got back on his feet. Doctor McCoy had not been encouraging on that score. Spock would later discover that Doctor McCoy's default state was one of cynical pessimism. He would rather not have resumed command, but there was no one senior enough in the chain of command to take over in Kirk's stead that had any command training at all. Nyota came closest but her experience with command was limited to her fellow Communications specialists.

Spock spent the rest of the day doing what he could to secure all stations possible aboard ship, get at least an initial estimate on the damage done, and what of that damage could be repaired en route to Spacedock. With that accomplished, he headed for Sickbay, both to ascertain the medical status of their Vulcan passengers and to discover what he could of Jim's welfare.


	3. Taking Charge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we start the real tale, gang. Enjoy!
> 
> I did my best to make sense of Jim's allergies, and after brainstorming with some folks (y'all know who you are, and thank you!) we came up with something that made sense.

Chapter Three

"A cracked jaw, ulna, three shattered ribs, and two broken ones." Bones ranted, poking a hypospray into Spock's chest, fire in his eye. "You're just lucky his throat wasn't crushed, you green-blooded bastard, or I'd've had you thrown in the Brig."

It was taking all of Bones' restraint not to take a swing at the smug Vulcan bastard. Only his awareness that Spock's entire world, literally, had been ripped out from underneath him allowed him to keep his Hippocratic Oath. Normally, it wouldn't have been such a problem but Bones had a soft spot for Jim. That Jim had damn near died on the operating table thanks to internal bleeding, external blood loss, and shock had destroyed most of his restraint. That Spock was directly, personally responsible for at least some of the damage that Bones had rattled off and indirectly responsible for what he hadn't listed just made it worse.

"My fault, Bones."

The hoarse, cracked, exhausted voice coming from the bed behind him had Bones forgetting that Spock existed. He whipped around.

"Jim! Damn and blast it, man, are you trying to put me in an early grave?" He ranted. He grabbed a diagnostic unit. "Stop trying to get up, you idiot. You're not moving from there until I'm good and ready to let you."

Jim, predictably, ignored him and tried to get up anyway. He promptly stopped and collapsed back into the bed in response to the pain Bones knew he was feeling. Bones gave him a dirty look and ran the scanner over him. The data that scrolled across the screen let Bones breathe a sigh of relief. Everything was mending as it should. With Jim's rather fucked up body, that was not an automatic given.

That would be why Bones has a soft spot for Jim. He'd ended up becoming Jim's physician of choice more by accident than design. They'd managed to get a room together since Jim had wanted no part of the kids his age, for reasons Bones hadn't understood at the time. He hadn't realized that Jim was THAT Kirk yet. For himself, Bones hadn't wanted any part of the infants either. Jim was still nearly a decade younger than he was, but dammit it was better than having some fresh-from-high-school teenybopper in his room by quite a margin. Even that early in their acquaintance, Bones had recognized a maturity and gravity in Jim that most people his age didn't have.

Of course, Jim had been damn good at pretending he was an infant, those first months. Once he'd realized who Jim was, Bones had been heartily amused by the swathe of destruction Jim left in his wake at the Academy. It had been one of those incidents, that had ended in broken knuckles, that had started things. Jim had refused to go to Medical and Bones had fussed at him while fixing his hand. After that, it snowballed.

But the more Bones had done for Jim medically, the more he'd learned about Jim. Jim never, ever spoke of his home life. He called his brother religiously every month but Winona was never spoken of by either of the boys. The scans Bones had to do in the course of treating Jim had revealed a laundry list of lingering problems from a tetchy immune system to faint, lingering signs of starvation.

Starvation being a problem that was all but unheard of in the Federation, especially for Starfleet dependents, it hadn't taken Bones long to put the pieces together and figure out where and why Jim had suffered from starvation. He'd been horrified and very confused. There should have been something in Jim's file, even if it was redacted and restricted to hell and gone. But there was nothing. Bones later realized that Jim must have deleted the information. He certainly had the hacking skills to manage it. 

Bones had considered broaching the subject, if only in the sense of making Jim aware of issues he'd need to keep an eye out for. Then Bones realized that Jim was fully aware of those issues. Jim's zealous, almost obsessive attention to his diet and physical fitness suddenly made more sense. If Bones had become a bit more protective of Jim after he'd figured it out, neither of them mentioned it. Jim had put him down as his preferred physician and that was the end of it.

"And what the fuck do you mean it's your fault?" Bones continued his rant. "I didn't see you ask to get beat three-fourths to death."

"Sort of did." Jim rasped.

"Shut up, infant." Bones snapped. "And go back to sleep before I hypo you."

"Yes mom." Jim snarked, proving beyond any doubt that he was back on the mend and would be annoying the hell out of Bones in short order.

Bones rolled his eyes and waved the hypo at Jim in silent threat, but Jim's eyes had already slid closed again. Only then did Bones' attention return to the green-blooded hobgoblin he'd been ranting at before Jim woke up.

Bones wasn't going to pretend to be any great shakes at reading Vulcan expressions but even to him, Spock looked ... disconcerted Bones supposed.

"He will recover?" Spock asked.

No thanks to you, Bones didn't say. "Yeah. He'll be out of that bed and running around the ship come morning." 

Against medical advice of course, but Bones had long since learned the folly of trying to keep Jim in a sickbay bed once he was capable of moving. Unless Bones kept him unconscious, there was no hope whatsoever of keeping Jim where he belonged. The best Bones could do would be to stealth-hypo the little bastard with pain relievers and sleep aids at odd intervals.

"How is Captain Pike?" Spock asked.

"Stable, for now." Bones said, accepting the subject change. "We need to get him to a specialist though. The damage to his spine is beyond my ability to deal with, especially with the damage done to Sickbay." 

He motioned to the burnt-out main room behind them, currently being used for triage purposes as the crew and their unexpected passengers got checked over. Jim had been tucked in a small side room while he recovered as his injuries had been so severe. Pike was in the room next to him and the other small side rooms were all full as well, holding the other severe cases that Bones had managed to make it to in time to save. There'd been a lot of them he hadn't.

Now was not the time to think about that, however. Now was the time to think of other things. Like helping the ones he HAD been able to save. "They going to need anything special?" He asked, indicating the small knot of Vulcan elders.

Spock shook his head. "Merely somewhere relatively quiet to meditate." He said.

Bones grimaced. "Good luck finding that." He groused. He actually meant it. Anything approaching peace and quiet would be rather hard to find aboard the ship for a long while to come.

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Jim woke the next morning to a lot of pain but less than he'd felt the first time he'd woken up. He glowered at the ceiling for a minute as he tried to convince his rebelling body to get the hell up. Before he managed that, Bones walked in, a tray in hand.

"Quit faking, Jim. I know you're awake." Bones growled.

Jim snorted, but pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as every muscle, bone, and sinew protested. "Love you too, Bones." He growled. Well, at least it was an improvement on the hoarse rasp from the first time he'd woken. It would probably be a couple days before his voice returned to normal.

"Eat." Bones commanded, putting the tray in his lap.

Fortunately, it was all liquid, which Jim approved of under the circumstances even if he was more than slightly suspicious as to the actual contents. It didn't stop him from drinking it all down. He and Bones had an unstated agreement between them. Bones wouldn't try to force Jim to stay in bed once he was mobile after a major injury and Jim wouldn't bitch (too much) when he inevitably got hypo'd or otherwise medicated to make him rest.

"The ship?" Jim asked once he'd finished. The liquid had the side benefit of smoothing out a bit more of the growl in his voice.

"Holding together, mostly by the grace of that insane Scots' efforts and that bloody hobgoblin's demands." Bones groused. "The Admiralty's been howling for you. I told 'em to stuff it and they weren't talking to you until I said you were fit for it."

Jim snickered. That had to have been an interesting conversation. "Thanks, Bones." And yup, the liquid had been dosed with something because the pain was starting to fade. God bless Bones. "I better get going." He had a lot to do. But first ... "Pike?"

"Stable, needs a specialist to deal with the damage done to his spine by that bloody creature those Romulan bastards shoved in him." Bones said. "But he's otherwise in good condition."

That was good news. Jim slowly swung his legs off the bed and tested his feet, gratified to find himself remarkably stable despite the damage he'd suffered and the effort to fix that damage.

"My quarters are down the corridor to the right. Go get a shower Jim, and borrow one of my uniforms." Bones said.

That sounded like a very, very good idea. Fortunately, he and Bones were basically the same size in both height and weight, so the borrowed uniform would fit him well. 

"And for god's sake, take this." Bones said, handing over a small device.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief at seeing it. Things had been so crazy that he hadn't had his on hand, but Bones always had multiple spares on him. The little device allowed him to get his (carefully watched) diet from any replicator since Jim didn't always have access to replicators he'd programmed himself. He pocketed it with a nod of thanks to Bones.

The trip to Bones' quarters went quickly enough and the shower was damn near orgasmic. Jim felt a lot more human once he'd changed into a clean uniform. With that done, Jim scrubbed a hand through his hair before he headed for the bridge.

The bridge, when he got there, was a hive of activity. There were a couple of engineers working on the cracked viewscreen, making sure it would still work correctly and would not crack further, thereby exposing the bridge to vacuum. Several other stations were being worked on as well. Apparently, some of the electronics had given out under the strain when they'd been trying to escape the black hole and then riding the explosion to safety.

Spock was, interestingly, sitting at the science station rather than the captain's chair. Jim cocked an eyebrow at him but didn't get a chance to say anything right away, as the rest of the bridge crew realized he'd shown up.

"Kirk!" Uhura snapped as she stalked over, looking for all the world like she wanted to punch his lights out.

Of course she'd be the one to get to him first, Jim thought with amusement. "Uhura." He was badly tempted to call her by her first name but figured that might be pushing his luck a little too far.

Uhura slapped him on the arm, rather more gently than she normally would. "You're an idiot."

Jim grinned at her. "I thought you already knew that about me?" He asked, which earned him an eyeroll.

Then Sulu and Chekov were on him. Jim grinned at Sulu and gripped his arm. Sulu was his sort of crazy bastard and Jim had a feeling they'd get along pretty well. Chekov, on the other hand, Jim just wanted to pet. The kid reminded him of a puppy. It was rather deceptive, because Starfleet didn't really DO puppies and something told Jim that Chekov took advantage of that perception of him rather frequently.

"Damage report." Jim said, getting everyone back to concentrating on business.

The news wasn't good. They had no warp capability at all, of course. The impulse engines were intact and working at full capacity but that was about the only mercy to be seen. Fully half the ship was damaged to some extent. Some of it was actually exposed to vacuum though the emergency forcefields and bulkheads were all holding, thanks be. Scotty, bless him, already had repair crews on the most critical repairs that could be managed in space.

On top of that, Jim discovered he'd had a lot of calls. Most from the admiralty, a few from the captains of the ships in the Laurentian system offering what support and supplies they could spare to the beleaguered Enterprise. The rest were from the paparazzi, looking for sound bites.

Jim thought for a minute and then glanced over at Spock. "The Vulcans aboard need anything?" He asked.

"No. They have all they require." Spock said.

Yeah, Jim was calling bullshit on that one. "Uhura, ignore any incoming from the press. Clear a channel for the Vulcan elders to use. They're probably going to need to be making a lot of calls." Finding out how many of their people were alive and how many, if any, had escaped Vulcan.

"Then start getting the captains on the horn. We need to get supplies lined up before I start making Admirals cry." Jim wondered how many of them realized he meant that more or less literally. Uhura, for certain. Spock had probably caught a clue too, after the last couple days. "Spock, how long will it take us to get to Earth?"

"Fifteen days, nine hours, twenty-seven minutes at current speeds, Captain." Spock responded near-instantly.

Jim nodded. "Then I want enough supplies lined up and on this ship for a full month." He said. "Uhura, any of the captains offering medical crew? That's a rather urgent concern."

Uhura nodded. "Four ships have offered some of their medical staff. Mostly nurses, but two full doctors have also volunteered. One of them, M'benga, is an expert on Vulcans and his ship is already en-route."

Jim was going to kiss someone. Bones was damn good but they really, really needed a Vulcan specialist right now. "Excellent." He said. "When's it arriving?"

"Tomorrow morning at 0500." Uhura said. "Three others will be arriving later in the day with volunteered supplies."

Jim nodded. "Make sure you make a note of what each ship is bringing against what we need." He said. "And keep me updated. Oh, and get one of them to stop by Delta Vega, would you? There's folks there that are going to need to be picked up."

Uhura nodded. "Yes Captain."

That dealt with, Jim turned his attention to the inevitable confrontation. This was going to be fun. "With that taken care of ... it's time to hail the Admiralty."

Uhura gave him a look that said clear as day 'Your funeral', but she obeyed.

"Just what the hell do you think you're playing at Kirk? You're on academic suspension! You shouldn't even be ON a ship!" 

The words were bellowed at truly awe-inspiring volume, Jim reflected. The admiral doing the yelling was a heavy-set, round-faced man who probably hadn't seen anything more strenuous than the walk from bedroom to bathroom in a few decades. It took Jim a few moments to remember his name. Komack, that was it.

"Medical Code." Jim answered him cheerily, showing a few too many teeth in his smile. "Doctor McCoy will be only too happy to confirm." Behind him, he heard a very faint noise from Uhura's general direction.

"Don't give me that crap, Kirk. I know McCoy's your lapdog." Komack fairly snarled.

Jim barely batted an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard. I could swear I just heard you malign one of the best general practitioners to pass through Starfleet's doors in the last decade *and* my attending physician of record. I would hate for the Medical Board to get all riled up over an accidental misstatement."

Jim knew he had the bastard over a barrel. The Starfleet Medical Board took an extremely dim view of their accredited physicians being wrongly accused of anything. Better, Komack didn't have a chance in hell of actually proving his accusation and they both knew it.

"Fine, so that's how you got aboard." Komack growled. "Explain what the hell you're doing playing at being Captain."

"I was elevated to second in command by Captain Pike." Jim said. "Ensign Sulu and Commander Spock can both confirm this, since Captain Pike himself is not currently able to verify. Subsequent to that decision, Commander Spock became compromised by the mission at hand and pursuant to regulation six-one-nine relinquished command."

"And just how did Commander Spock become compromised?" Komack demanded.

Jim saw red. "He snorted pixie dust and started muttering about pink elephants. How the hell do you *think* he became compromised, you heartless bastard? Now, are you going to ask any relevant questions or are you just going to continue wasting my increasingly valuable time? I have a ship to run."

Fortunately for both their sakes, the other admirals, who had given Komack shocked, disapproving, and downright angry looks for that last question, intervened. One of the female admirals (Jim couldn't remember her name) spoke up.

"I think we could all do with a rundown of events." She said.

Jim nodded in agreement, and gave them as accurate a rundown as he could, from the moment he'd realized he was not assigned a ship until it was finally all over. Mind you, he did alter a few things. Like the fact that Bones had induced his sickness. Jim made it sound like he'd managed to trigger his allergies all on his own. Thank the gods that his allergy was all over his records. Being allergic to a compound that was found in certain bioengineered grains and was a very common component of hyposprays sucked, but it also made it easy to say you'd accidentally run into something that had that component. That he'd had an incident or two in the Academy simply lent verisimilitude to his lie.

The other thing Jim lied like a rug about was Spock's breakdown. Even with Regulation Six-One-Nine having been invoked, Spock essentially trying to kill Jim would *not* go down well and could easily tank Spock's career. Kirk planned to wipe all evidence that happened from the computers and have a few words with the bridge crew to make sure none of them squealed. And then, if necessary, browbeat Spock until he caved and didn't mention it to the Admiralty himself.

For a wonder, the admirals let him get through the report without interrupting with questions. That said, once he'd gotten to the end of the report, they had questions aplenty: some for him, some for those of the bridge crew who'd been up to their ears in the events. When they were finally mostly satisfied the meeting turned to other matters. Mostly, what Jim needed to get back to Spacedock in one piece.

Right off the bat, Jim got some friction. Mostly over his insistence on having way more surplus in the food supplies than the Admiralty thought he would need. Jim put his foot down.

"We have no way of predicting if we're going to actually make it to Spacedock in two weeks." Jim told them. "As banged up as this ship got, we could easily temporarily lose impulse engines at some point or have a cascade failure that means we can't go anywhere at all and have to wait for an available ship to tow us back. I'm not going to order fifteen days' worth of consumables and pray. I'm going to plan and stock up for a worst-case scenario. Whether you like it or not."

Thankfully, most of the admirals saw the wisdom of that (given the shape the ship was currently in) and didn't push any harder. Komack and the couple of other holdouts got shut down by the admirals that agreed with Jim.

There was some discussion over whether or not to medevac Pike or not. Jim called Bones and let him hash that out with the admirals, since Bones knew far better than he did whether it was a good idea. In the end, it was decided to keep Pike on the Enterprise, as moving him could easily do more damage than could be fixed at a better equipped facility. That decided, the Admiralty was only too happy to send the best neurology specialists they had and whatever equipment they felt they would need that was transportable. A second, more experienced doctor with knowledge of Vulcan biology was also being sent to back up M'benga just in case. He'd be arriving with a load of medical equipment to replace some of what got wrecked when Sickbay got hit.

Finally, they were done with the Admiralty and Uhura shut down the comm. Jim breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Jim turned towards the turbolift. "If anything else comes up, comm me. I'll be somewhere helping with repairs." He said before he marched off the bridge.

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Spock watched Jim leave with carefully hidden baffled confusion. It was becoming clearer to him by the moment that he had been operating with not only an incomplete dataset where Jim was concerned, but the completely wrong dataset. He was going to have to get his hands on the correct data. Hopefully then the human would be a bit less bewildering.

Jim had marched onto the bridge and taken command like he'd been a Captain for years. There was none of the uncertainty or lack of confidence Spock had seen and come to expect from newly minted captains. And those men and women had been Starfleet officers for years. By all rights, a cadet who hadn't even graduated yet should be an incoherent mess when thrust into command. Jim should not have been able to think of and demand some of the supplies he had requisitioned from the Admiralty. Not because he was an idiot, but simply because they were the sorts of things only an experienced commander would think of.

Really, the only thing that hadn't surprised Spock was Jim being able to argue the Admiralty into silence on any matter they disagreed on. That, and his angry disrespect to Admiral Komack. That one such incident had been on Spock's behalf, however, had confused Spock. Yes, they had worked in concert on the Narada but Spock had not expected Jim to come to his defense.

And then there was the blatantly fraudulent account of the events on the bridge surrounding Spock's being compromised. Spock fully intended to discover why Jim had lied about that as soon as possible and then correct Starfleet's misapprehensions. It was added to the ever-growing list of things he needed to do as soon as there was time and opportunity.

Spock spent most of the rest of that shift assisting in repairing the bridge's systems and ensuring that the science station's sensors were properly calibrated after most of the station's components had been repaired. Once his shift was over, he headed to the Science department to ensure that all was well there. Most of the alpha shift bridge crew also scattered in every direction, with the clear intent to assist with repairs.

The various labs in the Science Department had, thanks be, suffered little damage. Granted, this was mostly because the labs had not been fully outfitted yet. The Enterprise, after all, had not been scheduled to have her maiden voyage for several months yet, after the next class of cadets graduated in late June. All of her vital systems had been fully online and outfitted but things like the labs hadn't, since they weren't critical to the ship's operation.

Once Spock had ensured the welfare of his department, he stopped by the quarters assigned to the Vulcan Elders. He doubted they had (or would admit to) any further needs, but it was logical to be sure. If he drew some shred of reassurance from seeing his father before he retired for the evening, it would be his secret.

As predicted, the Elders had no further need. Sarek, however, quietly drew him aside for a few moments. Neither of them said anything. They simply kept each other company for a few minutes, wordlessly grieving Amanda's loss. After a few moments, Spock nodded, shared an understanding look with his father, and left for his own quarters.

Spock entered his own quarters and immediately gathered the necessary accoutrements for his evening ablutions. His hands hesitated minutely before he picked up his sleeping robe, now one of the pitifully few remnants of anything Vulcan.

Distantly, he wondered if the near-crippling grief that kept ambushing him at odd moments would ever ease. Academically, he knew it would but for once in his life, academics and scientific fact were absolutely no comfort whatever. Deliberately, he completely ignored the drawer that held a number of his mother's handmade sweaters. He was not going to subject himself to that anytime soon.

Even the sonic shower was no real comfort as some corner of his mind was aware that some of the grime being cleaned off his body was dust and grit he'd accumulated on his brief trip to Vulcan. He finished, grateful he would finally have the time to do something about his mental state.

It took Spock over an hour to accomplish something that even pretended to be meditation. He kept getting sidetracked by errant thoughts and ambushed by waves of emotion that made it difficult to achieve the necessary mental state.

When he was finally able to settle, the damage to his mindscape was every bit as bad as he'd anticipated. The once orderly, organized expanse looked like a particularly large sandstorm had torn through it. Spock began to clean up the mess, tucking bits of memories and information back into their appropriate slots.

He saved the tangled, severed remains of the various bonds he'd once had until last. What had once been a complex, expansive web had been reduced to a few pathetic strands. At that, Spock was fortunate because the bonds he'd had were almost all secondhand through his bond with Sarek. Unlike normal Vulcan youths, he had not developed friendships - and as a result, mental bonds - with anyone outside of his immediate family. Nor did he have a mate.

Spock wondered if that had been the unifying theme of those who had managed to stay on their feet in the wake of Vulcan's destruction ... distance. The elders had been cushioned, distanced by the mental presences of multiple katras. The few Kolinahr Adepts and Gol Masters had, as that discipline demanded, long since severed all mental ties to others. Perhaps the rest of those that had stayed on their feet had been like himself - with few close bonds to rip their minds to shreds.

It was not until Spock had begun trying to put the mess to rights that he stumbled across something that should not have been there. It was a bond - one that Spock did not remember creating. It was also very new, gossamer thin, and barely discernable from the background of Spock's mind. Mentally, he frowned at it before touching it.

Faintly, dimly, he got a flash of a mental presence; a distinctly non-Vulcan mental presence. There had been only one non-Vulcan that Spock had been in anything like a position to form a bond with. Well, that would definitely explain the otherwise baffling synchronicity he had experienced with Jim aboard the Narada. Clearly they had been picking up on each other's thoughts and impressions through the bond.

Spock was honestly horrified at himself. Creating any sort of bond with someone else was not done idly. It was also never, ever done without their express permission and knowledge. Forcing a bond like this was one of the biggest crimes a Vulcan could commit. The fact the bond had been formed accidentally was cold comfort indeed. Even accidentally violating another's mental privacy without permission was anathema to Vulcans. That was why they avoided physical contact wherever possible: it was far too easy, with many races, to pick up on thoughts and feelings with even the briefest of skin-to-skin contact.

Spock pulled out of his meditation, staring at the far wall in perturbed contemplation. He would contact his father in a few hours. Sarek would know how to sever the bond and would not condemn Spock as harshly as most of the other elders would. They would see it as yet another example of Spock's inherent inferiority. Sarek would be far more inclined to see it as what it was - the accidental result of a mind under extreme amounts of psychic trauma.

If it were not the very early hours of the morning (the chronometer indicated it was 0210) Spock would have gone to his father immediately for assistance in severing the inadvertent bond. As the hour was what it was, Spock could wait four hours for his father to rise from his slumber, if he'd slept at all. Given recent events, that was not at all guaranteed.

After a few more moments, Spock rose smoothly from his meditation mat and retired to his bed. Despite (more likely because of) his meditation, sleep proved elusive for approximately another hour before he finally succumbed.

Perhaps that was why Spock slept through his alarm the first time it rang. He had not done so since he was a toddler. Indeed, he had not required an alarm at all throughout most of his teen and adult years. He had merely continued the practice as a precaution. At any rate, he did not wake until his alarm went off a second time, much more loudly than the first.

He was very put out at his apparent laziness, and was very rushed in performing his usual morning chores before he began the day. Just as he was finishing his preparations, the comm bleated.

"Spock, the Intrepid will be here in five minutes with M'benga, the other sickbay staff, and whatever else they're donating. I'd like for you to be in transporter room two to greet M'benga." Jim said.

"That is logical." Spock agreed. He was far more familiar with the Elders than anyone on the ship and would at the very least be able to brief M'benga on names and ages. He would also be able to forewarn M'benga that he was going to run into some very atypical brainwave patterns when he examined the elders and that some of it was completely normal and nothing to be alarmed about, given they were hosting multiple katras. It would assist the doctor in ascertaining which of the atypical readings were the result of psychic trauma.

Spock smoothed his tunic down one last time and made his way swiftly to transporter room two. His resolution to seek out his father to deal with the inadvertent bond was completely forgotten.


	4. Week One

Enterprise, Day 3 Post-Narada

Jim nodded to Spock when the latter arrived in Transporter Room Two. Today promised to be a hectic day - as did the next few. They'd be constantly on the hop while the rest of the fleet brought supplies and replacement personnel. 

He ignored Bones' nearly sub-vocal growl directed at Spock. Jim knew Bones was still very unhappy with Spock. If it went beyond glares and sub-vocal growls, Jim would do something. Until then it was really best to let Bones get it out of his system. He'd calm down in a few days.

Scotty had opted not to supervise and organize the transportation and allocation of materials needed for repairs. He felt he would be needed to supervise (and in more than one case, personally improvise) the actual repairs. Given how badly damaged much of the ship was, Jim hadn't argued with him. Scotty had sent two of the more senior engineers remaining in his stead. One went to Transporter Room Two to deal with the smaller shipments, the other to the cargo bay that would be dealing with the larger stuff.

"Captain, the first ship is in transporter range and ready to begin." Uhura informed them through the comm.

"That's the one with M'benga aboard, right?" Jim double-checked. That had been the case yesterday but it was always possible that that ship had had an unexpected problem, or had been temporarily diverted unexpectedly or some such.

"Correct." Uhura confirmed.

"Excellent." Jim said, breathing a sigh of relief. The neurology specialist would be arriving later in the day, further relieving Jim's concerns on the medical end of things. Jim nodded to the man at the transporter controls. "Energize."

Thus began a very long day. Jim quickly realized that it could have been a lot worse. Scotty's representative had organized a frighteningly efficient relay team for the supplies, ensuring the platform was emptied almost as fast as it was filled. There was a similar team dealing with the bulk supplies that were being transported to the cargo bay.

That meant there weren't any delays and snags on that end, which helped keep tempers on a fairly even keel. Sadly, there was nothing that could speed up the process of getting people aboard. Nor one that would spare Jim from the necessary glad-handing that came with it.

Thank whatever deities existed, the vast majority of the personnel coming aboard were more interested in getting the necessary greeting protocol over with as fast and efficiently as possible. They were there to help the beleaguered Enterprise. Showering Jim and the Enterprise's crew in accolades for their feat would only waste valuable time. Only one or two seemed to want to fanboy all over him, and he was legitimately able to cut them off at the knees (politely) in the interest of getting things done. He did miss Bones and Spock's presences after a while. Both of them had escorted M'Benga to the infirmary. Bones to handle the medical end, Spock to fill M'Benga in on the rest.

That thought made Jim cringe repeatedly throughout the day. Despite knowing it wouldn't have changed a damn thing, he couldn't help but wish things had happened differently on that drill. He actively cursed their idiotic third on more than one occasion. He was so angry at the man he deliberately forgot his name. The idiot didn't *deserve* a proper, respectful remembrance.

That had been the worst possible time to act like an immature adrenaline junkie, or whatever the hell had been the man's problem. Jim was aware he was being a bit of a hypocrite thinking like that. Only a bit, though. He'd acted like an idiot sometimes, but he'd never done so when other peoples' lives had been in the balance.

Jim made sure there were meal breaks ... and did what he could to enforce them. It really mostly amounted to heading to Sickbay to forcibly pull Bones away from his patients after making a general announcement to the crew. Some people might think it odd that Jim was forcibly putting his foot down about meal and rest breaks, but he knew better than most that not eating and resting would just end up making matters a whole hell of a lot worse. Tired, hungry people made mistakes.

Spock was still in Sickbay when Jim walked in. He and M'benga were quietly talking to the elder that had called Spock off when he'd gone ape shit. Jim walked over. He was going to have to apologize for that shit on the bridge. He'd hated doing it. He was damn near as tetchy about George as Spock seemed to be about his mother, so he was well aware of just how low a blow he'd aimed.

Jim nodded respectfully as he approached and tried to give the ta'al, tried being the operative word. He sort of managed it but it looked a bit pathetic and shaky: his fingers weren't spread as widely as they should have been, and were trembling with the effort of staying in position. He'd have to work on that.

"Sir." He greeted the elder. "Doctor. Spock."

"Captain." Spock greeted. "I would make known to you Ambassador Sarek, my father. Father, this is Captain James Kirk."

Ohhhhhhhh, shit. Not good. So very not good. Not only had Jim been insulting Spock's mother to *his* face, but to her husband's. How had he managed to walk off that bridge alive, again?

"Ambassador." Jim said before he glanced at Spock. "I owe you both an apology. My words on the bridge were completely uncalled for."

Father and son shared a look that almost looked amused to Jim's unpracticed eye. Sarek then looked back at him. "No apology is necessary, Captain Kirk. I was immediately aware of your purpose when you began to berate Spock. It was clear to me that you were not in earnest. You were doing what was logical, if in a typically illogical human fashion."

"It was clear to me instantaneously as well." Spock admitted. "The very fact you succeeded in your goading proved you correct; though I was being ... illogical ... enough to deny it."

That admittance seemed to actively pain Spock. Jim wanted to object and protest that regardless of his purpose in insulting Spock and his mother, it had been beyond uncalled for. Sadly, he knew that such protestations would fall on deaf ears. Somewhat reluctantly, Jim let it go.

"Spock, have you eaten since this morning?" Jim wanted to know.

"No I have not." Spock said. "However, I found the argument inherent in your announcement quite logical and was in the process of inviting Doctor M'benga and my father to join me for lunch."

Jim nodded. "Cool. I'll go drag Bones away from whatever he's doing. If I don't, he'll find one excuse after another to not eat or sleep until he drops." 

Jim had seen that happen once, when there'd been a rather nasty shuttle accident with a lot of badly injured survivors. Bones had worked his ass off for something like three days straight with little more than bathroom breaks and lots of water. He'd also collapsed at the end of that stretch and had taken a full week to recover. After that, Jim had kept an eye on Bones whenever there was an emergency.

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Starfleet HQ Day 4

The Admiralty was meeting yet again to try to make some sense out of the mess they'd found themselves in. Really, they hadn't stopped meeting except for meals and sleep since the distress call from Vulcan came in. Those first meetings had had an entirely different tenor than the meetings after Vulcan had been blown up. Now, pretty much the entirety of Alpha and Beta quadrants were either reeling from the attack or in a position to take advantage of the situation. Keeping their collective heads above water was going to take one hell of a lot of maneuvering.

The only break they'd caught was that the Klingons had been hit even worse than Starfleet had. The Klingons had lost over forty ships with all hands. Even the most optimistic estimates of their remaining forces came to less than forty ships: almost all of them cargo haulers of various stripes rather than attack craft. The Klingons still had their up-and-coming crop of cadets but they had lost almost their entire roster of battle-experienced crewmen and captains. It would be at least a decade before they recovered from that loss. Building the ships would take five years at the very least. It'd take another five years beyond that for all the new cadets who would be staffing those ships to gain any kind of experience.

The Admiralty was comprised of twenty Admirals, each one nominally in charge of certain aspects of Starfleet and Federation business. There were more than twenty Admirals in Starfleet of course. Getting into the Admiralty was rather akin to getting into the Senate or House of Lords back in the 20th century. Lots of politicking and glad-handing was involved.

The Admiralty was divided into roughly three groups where James Kirk was concerned. One group felt the boy had no business being in Starfleet. The second group felt that they owed Kirk and humoring him was for the best, lest something highly unpleasant happen. The third and smallest group were, to put it bluntly, fanboys.

Admiral Komack was the leader of the group that wanted Kirk out of Starfleet. He loathed James T. Kirk with every fiber of his being and for a number of reasons. First and foremost being that he did not believe anyone should get into Starfleet on the strength of their daddies' deeds. George Kirk had, Komack was willing to admit, done the nigh-impossible that day aboard the shattered Kelvin. That did not mean James Kirk should get a free ride. That was not Komack's biggest problem with Kirk Junior. Komack's biggest problem with that insubordinate delinquent was Tarsus.

Like most of the existing Admirals, Komack had been an Admiral at the time of the Tarsus IV disaster. He was well aware that Kirk had been on that benighted planet at the time. He was also well aware that every trace of evidence that Kirk had ever been on that planet had disappeared. Hells, even ship's records had been altered to reflect one less survivor than there really was and all mention of George and/or Kirk had been deleted from all records as if such comments had never been made. Komack was still trying to figure out how the bastard managed the feat.

In the wake of the disaster, Komack had been firmly against any of the survivors having any role in Starfleet. All of them were broken, fragile, and untrustworthy. They'd crumple under the strain of any job short of mopping floors.

He'd thrown a conniption fit when Pike had snuck Kirk into the fall semester three years ago. That boy had no business being anywhere near Starfleet, ever. The boy's actions his first year had proven Komack to be entirely correct in his judgment on Kirk's mental stability and suitability for Starfleet. And now the bastard was playing at being Captain of what would be the flagship of the fleet in a few months' time. To say Komack had been frothing at the mouth the last couple days was a vast understatement.

"Any word from the Romulans?" Komack wanted to know the moment everyone had gotten settled.

"Nothing. Not so much as a whisper." Admiral Caliche said. "The ships we scrambled to the Neutral Zone haven't caught a sniff of any activity, not that there would be much of a tell-tale with their cloaking technology. There have been no attempts at communication, either. At least not yet."

From the looks on everyone's faces, the lack of response from that quarter was making them all twitchy. Komack knew he would much prefer for the bastards to do or say something, for good or ill, rather than this ominous silence.

"And the brat?" He wanted to know.

Admiral Caliche glared at Komack. Really, was he *trying* to get them all in even more trouble than they already were?

Caliche was the leader of the 'humor Kirk' group. She had also been in the Admiralty at the time of the Tarsus incident. She hadn't been any more pleased at James Kirk joining Starfleet than Komack but for entirely different reasons. She knew full well that Kirk had a legitimate axe to grind with Starfleet in general and the Admiralty in particular both over that snafu and ... other things. It was hard to misunderstand the truth of the matter when a certain Commander Kirk had spent a grand total of two years Earth-side during her childrens' childhoods after the death of George Kirk. And that the Commander had had no contact with either son in the last decade-and-a-half.

Caliche, a mother of two sons herself, couldn't even begin to come up with any circumstance that would get her to cut her boys out of her life in such a manner. As a result, she had been the strongest proponent of ... limiting ... the Commander's career. She would never attain Captaincy at least not as long as Caliche had anything to say in the matter. There were days when Caliche wanted to drum the woman out of her position as Head of the Science Department aboard her current ship.

Caliche felt that having someone sign up for Starfleet with that big a chip on their shoulder about the organization was a very bad idea. Even when James' actions on Tarsus made it clear that he could be an incredible leader given half a chance. Firstly, Kirk was going to be very unlikely to toe the line since he had no real respect for Starfleet. Secondly the young man had more than enough ammunition against them to bring Starfleet to its knees. Worse, James had the temper and strength of will to actually follow through with such a threat. He also had the charisma needed to rally people to his cause, above and beyond the collection of people he'd be able to rally by virtue of being the son of Starfleet's most revered hero.

"Komack, if you can't say something constructive do us all a favor and be silent." Caliche snapped. "Just in case you missed it, Acting Captain Kirk saved *billions* of lives the other day. And that was just here on Earth. I have little doubt that madman would have attempted to do to more planets what he did to Vulcan." Caliche wasn't the only one to shudder in horror at that idea. "We owe him gratitude, not gratuitous vitriol."

The majority of the rest of the Admiralty was nodding or voicing agreement with her, which seemed to shut Komack up for the moment. Nevertheless, Caliche decided to keep a careful eye on the members who didn't look any too happy with Kirk at the moment. She wouldn't put it past one or more of them to try something. Doing so would end VERY badly for them. The entirety of the Federation seemed to be singing Kirk's praises at the moment, and any action against him would result in a lot of problems, to put it mildly.

"At any rate, young Kirk seems to be doing an admirable job at the moment. The reports I've gotten thus far from the captains that have spoken with him have nothing but good things to say. He seems to be firm but polite, has a good grasp of what the ship needs as regards supplies for the remaining trip and repairs, and seems to be managing without floundering." Caliche said.

Several of the other Admirals nodded in agreement, having gotten similar reports from the captains that they had spoken to. "From what I've heard, he seems to have taken command like he was born to it." One of the other Admirals commented. "The volunteer crewmen aboard that have reported in to their original captains all say basically the same thing ... that Kirk can usually be found belly-deep in some panel helping fix wiring or what have you, rather than sitting on his ass on the bridge. That he chases everyone off shift at least once a day, reminding them that working around the clock does no one any favors. The bridge crew all seem to be doing much the same as Kirk. I wouldn't be surprised to discover that ship was largely patched back together by the time they get back here. They can't do anything about the holes blown in her, the external cracks in the superstructure, or the warp core but I'll bet most everything else is fixed."

That got a few laughs. "With that insane Scot aboard her? You won't see me betting against you." A fourth Admiral laughed. "I'm just glad Archer retired after he kicked that man out to Delta Vega because he'd be throwing a fit if he knew about this. And I'll not be the one to tell him!"

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Day 5, Qo'noS

High Chancellor Maktor watched as the lesser Councilors arrived, all of them showing signs of mourning. There was not a single Great House that had not lost at least five members in the attempt to blow that Romulan ship to smithereens. He himself had lost two sons, three brothers, and six nephews. Only his sister, her children, and his and his brothers' youngest children had been spared.

The entire Empire was screaming for blood: Romulan blood to be precise. Some few had armed what cargo ships their Houses owned and set out to wash the galaxy in green blood. Maktor wished them well in their quest but given the ships and warriors they had to work with, he knew it would not go well for them.

Losing forty-seven battleships with all hands aboard had been a catastrophic loss for the Empire. That had been the bulk of their armada. Only a dozen ships, all of them old and technologically inferior to the ships of their rivals and enemies remained. The only good news was that the Empire's cargo ships remained and could be refitted. Unfortunately, that was going to be a stopgap measure at best. Refitted cargo ships were a poor replacement for true battleships in a fight. And that said nothing of the crews of those ships. Cargo crews were inferior. Not quite cowards, weaklings, and quislings but close enough. If they were true warriors, they would have been on warships. Replacement warrior crews were nigh on nonexistent thanks to the battle.

Maktor knew the Empire would be ... vulnerable ... for the best part of a decade. They had resources enough to repair their existing fleet, and to build a few new ships each year to replace ships lost to battle. They did not have anywhere near enough resources to replace forty-seven ships anytime soon. Equally, it would take time to replace the lost crews.

Until they managed that, the Empire would be more vulnerable than it had been at any time in its glorious history. They would have virtually no space armada to speak of. That meant that the many colony worlds would essentially be on their own. Klingons were a proud and fierce people but Maktor knew that would not be enough if a colony world was attacked before they managed to rebuild their armada.

Worse, the more aggressive races in Alpha and Beta quadrant either already knew or would soon discover how vulnerable the Empire had become. Many of them would be inclined to take advantage of that fact. Which meant that, without some sort of alliance, the Empire could conceivably be torn to shreds before they could mount any sort of offensive. Unfortunately, the Empire had little in the way of allies; none, really. They were warriors first and foremost, which meant conquering and subjugating, not befriending. The only place they had utterly failed in that regard ... was now the one place they would have to turn for assistance.

The Empire's relationship with the Federation had always been ... contentious. Klingons were warriors to the marrow of their bones and beyond. They also revered family above everything short of their sense of honor. The cultural differences between Klingons and Humans had ensured that the first meeting of those two races would not go well. Things had escalated to open war pretty quickly before some sort of grudging understanding of their differences had been obtained. At that point, the two powers had agreed to put as much distance between their peoples as possible. While there had been a few confrontations since the establishment of the Neutral Zone, the two powers had mostly settled for a chilly, stiff, suspicious armed peace.

Things had altered a bit when the Narada first arrived. George Kirk's actions that day had gone a long way to opening a number of Klingon eyes. To many Klingons, Kirk had elevated himself to near-Klingon levels of bravery and honor. It made quite a few Klingons question the assumption that all Humans were honorless cowards. In the years since, relations between the Empire and the Federation had become slightly less fraught with tension.

That did not mean that this would be easy. Maktor knew that most of the Councilors would sneer at the idea of an alliance of any kind. They had done so repeatedly over the years and that had been when the Empire's armada had been at full strength. They would, to a man, die rather than appear weak now. Maktor agreed with that. To appeal to outsiders for protection was anathema. The trick was going to be approaching the Federation from a position of strength of *some* sort, even if it wasn't military strength.

Actually the trick was going to be getting the Councilors to realize they needed to approach the Federation but Maktor knew that would come up eventually. If it did not, Maktor had a few ideas to bring that up and guide them in a ... palatable ... direction.

In the four days since the disaster with the Narada, the entire Empire had been abuzz with talk about the young man who had defeated that fell ship where the entire might of the Klingon Empire had failed. George Kirk's son had avenged his father in a manner so Klingon it was breathtaking. If rumors were to be believed, the young warrior had even arranged for a Klingon-style promotion for himself by challenging and defeating the existing captain when that captain showed sufficient weakness. The rest of his crew had been equally impressive, proving themselves to be the sort of honorable warriors Maktor had never suspected Humans could be.

If they could arrange for the young James Kirk and his crew to come to Q'onoS as Ambassador, there might actually be a possibility of an alliance. At the least, there was a better chance that Kirk and company would understand Klingon ways. That had been the biggest stumbling block between their peoples all those years ago.

All Maktor had to do was get his people to realize an alliance was needed, then get them to realize one might be possible if they got the right people to do the talking between the two sides. That was going to be easy compared to what he'd had to do to rise to the rank of Chancellor.

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Day 6, Romulus

To say the Romulan people had been distressed by the appearance of Nero was to vastly understate the case. When Nero and his enormous ship had first appeared twenty-five years ago, the then-Praetor had instantly recalled what few spies lurked outside the Empire. Patrols along their borders had been tripled in anticipation of a retaliatory attack by the Federation.

That no such attack occurred did not soothe paranoid Romulan souls. For twenty-five years, ships had been built and crews trained in anticipation of all-out war. And now, Nero had managed to escape his Klingon captors and had blown up Vulcan.

While the bulk of the Romulan populace cared little for the fate of their cousin-race, they realized that their opinion of Vulcans was not shared by the rest of the Alpha and Beta quadrants in general and most of the Federation in particular. Once again, they were facing the possibility of war.

Already, Federation and Klingon ships had been spotted racing for the borders those peoples shared with the Romulan Empire. Worse, the Klingon ships showed no sign of stopping. The only good news was that the Federations ships seemed to be content, for the moment, with patrolling the border. Also, the Klingon ships were either hastily-refitted cargo ships or old, decrepit warships that belonged in the scrapheap. Neither of which would be a challenge for Romulan warships.

The Senate was meeting to discuss what to do about the situation they found themselves in once again, thanks to Nero. Some few advocated preemptive self-protection - in other words, taking the war to the Federation and the Klingon Empire while both were weak and reeling. Others advocated doing as they had done for the last quarter century and keeping to themselves while preparing for the worst. Some proposed actively speaking out against Nero in various ways, like formally exiling him and his crew. This would let everyone know they had not sent Nero to do what he had done.

"Empty words." The Praetor proclaimed when that suggestion came up. "Useless words. They either know and acknowledge Nero is not of us, or will not. Nothing we say or do in that regard will change their minds. We are Romulans ourselves, and thus suspect."

There was more than a little grumbling, but the Senators eventually had to admit the Praetor had a point. "We are left then with either going to war or remaining within our own territory."

"We will remain." The Praetor commanded. "War will not serve us. The Klingon Empire is weak, yes, and would fall with ease. We have no hope of conquering enough of the Federation fast enough to win that war. With the entirety of Starfleet on the move to monitor our border with them and guard their most precious and vulnerable worlds our chances are even poorer. We will withdraw and maintain silence. Let them have time to forget us and lower their guard. They cannot maintain such a high state of readiness forever. Once they had become complacent and unwary, we will revisit the subject of what our next move shall be."

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Day 7, Enterprise

Uhura glanced around the bridge as she arrived for Alpha Shift. She wasn't surprised to see Jim and Spock both already in place, though she herself was a full ten minutes early. Sulu and Chekov would be up here in a couple minutes. Nobody was placing any bets on whether or not Scotty had actually ever left Engineering since he got down there after his arrival on-ship. Uhura for one wasn't about to try to force him out because the man was managing to patch together a stunning amount of the damage done to the ship. Far more than she'd thought would be possible. 

Uhura knew that Jim had been forced to drag Leonard out of Sickbay by his uniform collar twice early on but thankfully, the crush in Sickbay had died down. The best news from that quarter was that while he would be in for up to a year of procedures and therapy, Captain Pike would eventually be back to perfect health. According to McCoy, if they'd taken even half an hour longer to get Pike to medical aid Pike would have been permanently paralyzed.

"Uhura!" Jim bounced to his feet the moment he saw her, making Uhura roll her eyes. "What's the scoop for the day?"

He'd asked her that every morning save that first morning after he'd returned from his stint in Sickbay. She knew it was his way of acknowledging the fact that as the current chief communications officer, she got all the off-ship news first. She also had a knack for picking up on all the gossip doing the rounds and being able to separate fact from rumor. Jim was also savvy enough to realize that most people were not going to feel comfortable approaching a senior officer or the captain if there was a problem.

While they didn't really have the 'senior officer' problem with a shipload of cadets, the hesitance to approach the captain definitely applied ... even if he was a raw cadet like the rest of them. The first few days there had actually been even more of a problem over approaching Jim than if he'd been a seasoned captain. Not much of anyone knew how to deal with Jim's sudden promotion. Jim had begun cutting that problem down to size with his constant presence everywhere on the ship *but* the bridge. Even during Alpha Shift, Jim was only on the bridge long enough to make sure everyone arrived and to field any calls from the Admiralty before he disappeared into the bowels of the ship to help fix the damage.

"T'pau managed to finish the census last night. A bit over twelve thousand Vulcans managed to escape the planet. Combined with the Vulcans on colonies, aboard ships, and what have you, the remaining population is just over one hundred thousand." Uhura told him, wishing it was possible to speak quietly enough that Spock would not hear her. Unfortunately, she knew just how good his hearing was. She and Jim would have to be a whole lot further away from Spock than this for him not to overhear them.

That miniscule number broke her heart. A week-and-a-half ago, there had been something like four or five billion Vulcans. How the Vulcans were going to survive long-term, she didn't know. Oh she knew they could resort to any of several means to spread the remaining genes around and prevent inbreeding. The problem lay in the damage done to their culture. They had lost two of their High Council in the race to safety aboard the Enterprise, she knew. And that was a catastrophic loss, not because the Councilors themselves were more important than any other Vulcan, but because they'd been housing who knew how many katras.

Uhura hadn't quite really believed in the whole Vulcan katra thing until several months after she'd begun dating Spock. The subject had come up and he had explained the phenomenon; perhaps not fully, but enough to satisfy her. She still wasn't convinced katras were actual souls but she was willing to allow that they were an information legacy left behind by Vulcans who had enough notice of their impending deaths to prepare that legacy. Losing the knowledge those Councilors possessed *and* the information they'd absorbed from the katra repository was a deeply felt loss for the Vulcan people.

There was also the fact that the odds of the Councilors having had time to empty the repository were nil. That meant that a lot of information had been left in the repository and then destroyed with the planet. This was compounded by the fact that the few ships to get off the planet before it blew had mostly had a skeleton adult crew and had then been crammed with as many kids as possible. Evidently, it was seen as logical to get the children out first. Both because they would have longer to live and repopulate the species and because more of them could fit on any given ship than if that ship had been filled with adults. Uhura couldn't really fault that logic but it had meant that a lot of Vulcan's best minds had perished.

And maybe she was concentrating on Vulcan and the problems Vulcans faced a bit too much. But it was ... easier, really, to concentrate on that than to think about ... If she started thinking about the ships Starfleet had lost and the people who had been on them, she would fall apart. They couldn't afford that. Not now and not for quite a while to come. There would be a time and a place to think about that and to grieve, but this wasn't it. So she thought about and obsessed over Vulcans. It made it a little easier.

"You're probably going to have to add Scotty to your 'drag out by the scruff of his neck' list." Uhura continued. "I don't think he's stopped working since he got down to Engineering after he arrived."

Jim gave an amused snort. "Yeah, I kind of noticed that and forced the issue before I came up here. Bones hypo'd him into compliance when he argued with me."

That made Uhura laugh. Bones was rather infamous for his tendency to hypo people into submission if they fought medical treatment or common sense. Uhura thought it was a bit on the brutal but effective side, and tended to encourage people who'd had to deal with him in the past to not argue with him when they had to deal with him later on. Unless, of course, your name happened to be Jim Kirk in which case you argued with Bones just for shits and giggles.

"Other than that, there's really nothing." Uhura said. "The worst of it's over and done and been rehashed enough for people to have stopped talking about it for the most part. All the critical repairs are finished and have been for two days. Sickbay's down to Pike and a handful of other long-term cases."

Jim nodded. "Great. I'm going to call a meeting for tomorrow after Alpha Shift for the bridge crew, Bones, and Scotty."

Uhura had a feeling she knew what that was about. She'd noticed that the ship's records of the bridge had been tampered with. A certain ... incident ... had been erased and replaced seamlessly with something far less damning and traumatic. Uhura even had a good idea of why Jim had done it. That was why she was saying nothing and had made sure that none of her private notes had any reference to the event.

"We do need to plan." She agreed. "It's going to be a madhouse on Earth. Every reporter on the planet is going to want a piece of us and even if Starfleet tries to ban them, they'll just talk to people who knew us and dig into our records and fun things like that ... provided they don't manage to corner us off Starfleet property."

Jim grimaced. "Yeah. That's going to be all sorts of fun." He agreed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I reserve the right to punch the first person to compare me to him."

Uhura huffed a laugh. "No punching, Jim, no matter how much they deserve it."

"Damn. Taking away all my fun." Jim pouted. "I suppose if I must." He sighed. "I'll try to behave, but I'm not making any promises."


	5. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the 'docking at Spacedock' sequence from Star Trek 3.

Enterprise, Day 8 Officer's Lounge

Part of Jim wished this meeting could have been held before now, but it hadn't been until the last day or so that the repairs had gotten to a point where wasting time on a not-quite-necessary meeting was possible. Now, though, they were roughly a week out from arriving at Spacedock, and not only did they need to get their stories straight for what happened on the ship, they needed to make plans for the media frenzy Jim knew would be waiting for them.

Spock, somewhat predictably, was the first to arrive, followed quickly by Uhura and Sulu. Chekov, Bones, and Scotty arrived a minute later.

"Ok, let's get this done. We all have better things to do than waste time in a meeting." Jim said, grinning at everyone. "First thing's first ... this is a friendly reminder to write up your report on what happened if you haven't already." He was betting most of them hadn't. Hell, he'd only started his yesterday. "If you haven't had to do that before." Here, he looked over at Chekov, who was the most likely to have that problem. "Don't be afraid to ask for help."

Jim glanced around the table. "And while we're on the subject of reports ... what happened on the bridge, stays on the bridge."

Spock predictably objected. "Captain ... "

"Aht." Jim said, waving a hand at him. "You and I both know that certain parties in the Admiralty will use that incident as an excuse to drum you out of Starfleet." He pointed out. "And not for any legitimate reason. They'd do it because they're xenophobic twits. I refuse to give that sort any ammunition, and really, if anyone had any right to bitch about that dustup, it'd be me. Since I have no intention of even remembering it happened, nobody else has any right to give you grief over it."

"I already made sure that there was no mention of it in any of my stuff, even my private log." Uhura said.

"Same here." Admitted Sulu.

"I will have to check mine, but I do not think I said anything." Chekov said.

Scotty just shrugged. "I don't exactly have a personal log set up, now do I? No one'll hear of it from me."

Which just left Bones. Jim cocked an eyebrow at him. Bones looked sour, but sighed. "All right, infant. You have a point. I'll alter my recordings."

Jim grinned, and mentally planned to check Spock's stuff and ensure he didn't sneak some mention of that snafu into a report or personal log for someone to find. He wouldn't put if past him.

"Right, that's taken care of." Jim said, ignoring Spock's cocked eyebrow and slightly pinched expression. "The only other thing we need to cover - and plan for - is how to deal with the media frenzy that's waiting for us on Earth."

"Aye, that's going to be a nightmare." Scotty agreed.

At that point, Chekov showed just how young he was. "They will not be that bad, surely?" He asked.

Jim snorted. "They'll be that bad and worse." He said. While he'd been far too young at the time to remember it, he'd found out later on that in the months immediately after the Kelvin incident, the surviving crew had been hounded almost endlessly, with no regard for the fact that they were traumatized and grieving. Most of them *still* got pounced around the anniversary by reporters. Jim had managed to miss most of it first by dint of living in the middle of nowhere, then by being on the move unpredictably, then by being in the somewhat protected cloister of Starfleet Academy.

"We're going to need to stick together." Sulu said. "Nobody goes anywhere alone. That way if someone gets a little too greedy, we have someone to back us up if necessary." And the more vulnerable members of the command crew - mostly Chekov and Spock - would have someone to hide behind if they needed it.

Uhura cocked her head to one side slightly. "If we need to get out of the crossfire, my parents would probably be willing to host us." She said. "It would have the side benefit of getting us about as far from San Francisco as it's possible to get and still be on the planet."

Jim let out a somewhat relieved breath. He hoped they wouldn't need a retreat like that, but having one was a damned good idea. "Double check with them, Uhura, and if they're willing, pass on our thanks." He said. "I hope like hell we won't need it, but let's face it, the media can get pretty bloodthirsty."

Day 9

Spock Prime

Spock had been rescued from Delta Vega, presumably on the orders of the James Kirk of this reality three days ago. The five-day span of time on Delta Vega with only Keenser for company had afforded Spock a much-needed opportunity to meditate and at least attempt to regain his equilibrium.

His words to this reality's Jim when he'd mind-melded with him hadn't been hyperbole. The actual supernova itself would not have threatened the galaxy. It was the Romulans' reaction to losing their homeworld that was the problem. Their sun's fate hadn't been a surprise to the Romulans. It had actually been the driving force behind much of their militaristic streak and tendency towards conquering and subjugation. Spock had known that this would increase exponentially in the aftermath of the supernova as the Romulans sought a new homeworld. He had hoped that helping them would mitigate the worst of it.

That decision had seen him wrangling with the Federation, Starfleet, and most especially the Vulcan High Council for years on top of his efforts to form some sort of trust between the Romulans and himself. It had taken every bit of his acquired knowledge and skill as a diplomat, not to mention more than a few techniques he'd learned from his Jim, to get anywhere. In the end, it had all been for naught.

Now he was in an entirely different reality. One that was more disconcerting than the one where the Federation had been an Empire on the verge of collapse and the people in it had been violent and ... strange. If this reality's James Kirk and Montgomery Scott were anything to go by, this reality's people were unsettlingly like the men and women he had known yet they were also oddly different. The Montgomery Scott Spock knew had never been exiled to Delta Vega, for instance, and his Jim had his father around until he was in his thirties. The change that threw Spock the most, however, was the fact that this Jim had blue eyes. Spock found that change jarring.

Now he was faced with crafting himself a life here. It would be both simple and incredibly difficult. Simple in that, with the vast majority of their records destroyed, the Vulcan Elders would have no proof that Spock was not whoever he eventually claimed to be so long as he was careful. It would be difficult in that he now had to decide what to do from here. He could 'settle down' as the Humans put it, on whatever world the Vulcans chose as their new home, he could become a teacher again, or ... well, the choices were many.

 

The biggest question Spock faced was: did he impart some of his knowledge? From the brief look he'd had about the ship that had taken him to Earth, the technology here was not identical to what he had known during this time period in his own reality. It might therefore be possible to introduce certain advanced technologies without seriously disrupting things. Better, quite a few things he knew of would help the Vulcans rebuild on a new world.

On the other hand, did he dare speak to Jim or his counterpart about the dangers they had faced in his reality? Most, perhaps even all, would not happen now, as many of their adventures had been dependent on being in a certain place at a certain time. But he might be able to spare them some measure of grief if he did forewarn them about the things that might still happen. 

His conscience demanded that he forewarn Starfleet of the Borg. That implacable enemy had nearly brought the Federation to its knees more than once in his reality. True, they'd managed to beat the Borg back, but this reality's Starfleet might have more success if they knew the Borg were out there far sooner than they'd discovered the knowledge in his reality. The only thing Spock knew was that he intended to avoid the Enterprise and her crew like the plague. His aged heart couldn't take the grief and pain being aboard that ship with even part of his old crew would cause.

Enterprise, Day 10

Pavel paced uneasily around the small room he shared with several other cadets. The others were all elsewhere at the moment, allowing him a few precious moments to himself. He wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, as it was giving him time to think and fret.

He'd been fine during the emergency, and in the days immediately after. There had been so much to do that Pavel hadn't had time or opportunity to really think about what had happened. Now, however, with the bulk of the possible repairs done, Pavel had repeatedly found himself having enough time to stop and think. Time to think about the fact he'd lost virtually all of his classmates. Time to think about managing to rescue Kirk and Sulu, but failing to rescue Spock's mother. Time to think about Vulcan imploding, and the billions of lives lost. Time to think about that damn near happening to Earth.

Pavel had no idea at all how to deal with this. He had no experience at all with tragedy, and only a minimal experience with loss due to the death of his grandparents two years ago. While his life had not been idyllic, it had been close enough. The worst he'd had to deal with had been bullies that hated smart people, and the inevitable awkwardness that resulted when you were a two years (or more) younger than the next youngest student in the class. Those problems he'd come up with an effective, if unique, solution to. Playing up his youth and (apparent) naiveté kept all but the nastiest types from giving him grief. It also provided a source of amusement for Pavel, as he got a kick out of peoples' reactions to him.

His only comfort was that he didn't think that *anyone* knew how to deal with the situation they found themselves in. Everyone was looking more and more shell-shocked and horrified as they all ran out of things to distract themselves with. Personally, Pavel had found himself doing everything in his power to avoid Spock, and when that wasn't possible, to avoid garnering Spock's attention. He knew it was stupid. He knew Spock wasn't blaming him for his mother's loss, but Pavel couldn't help but think he did.

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Hikaru was a lot of thing, but stupid definitely wasn't one of them. He'd noticed Pavel becoming more and more twitchy when he was on the bridge. He'd also noticed how fast Pavel was to get out of Spock's line of sight given the opportunity to do so.

He'd had plenty of time to think about it the last few days. He kept waking up at oh-dark-hundred, wide-eyed, sweating, and flailing hard enough to dump himself off the bunk as he dreamed (yet again) about that terrifying fall through Vulcan's atmosphere. Both terrifying falls, though the second one played itself out more often. Only, in his dream, he and Kirk didn't get beamed out in time.

At least he and Pavel weren't the only ones. Everyone was starting to look ragged and twitchy around the edges, or was walking around red-eyed and sniffly. Given that going back to sleep wasn't an option, Hikaru decided to go bug Pavel. Maybe having some company would help.

+_+_+_+_+_

The more Spock learned about humans, the less he understood them. They were most illogical beings. Logic dictated that a full, complete, and honest report of events be made. Yet two days ago, the bridge crew had agreed to falsify at least some of their reports. Spock had, of course, attempted to log his own factual report, but had discovered it had been altered when he checked it later. Repeated attempts to include the relevant information resulted in that information being deleted.

Moreover, the bridge recordings had been altered in such a way that there was no indication they *had* been altered, if one did not know the truth of the events that had occurred. Spock had a very good idea who had done that, as there were not all that many people in Starfleet who could match his own skill with computers. Only one of those people happened to be on the Enterprise.

Spock did not understand it, but it was clear to him that the entire command crew was conspiring to protect him. He found it most illogical, as he was sufficiently able to defend himself from false accusations. He had eventually resorted to speaking with his father, attempting to understand this facet of human behavior.

"You will find, Spock, that humans act illogically, but that despite that, there is frequently some sort of logic behind their actions. Your crewmates are correct in their assumption that some members of Starfleet's Admiralty would use your actions during your temporary loss of control as an excuse to force you out of Starfleet. They would do so not because it is logical, but for their own illogical reasons. Your crewmates simply seek to protect you from that illogic." Sarek had told him.

After meditating on his father's words, Spock had finally decided to permit his crewmates' illogical actions, and had ceased attempting to correct his reports to show the true events on the bridge. Jim had clearly become aware that he'd stopped attempting corrections, because this morning when they'd met on the bridge for Alpha Shift, Jim had glanced over at him and given him an amused looking grin.

Day 15, Spacedock

Spacedock was normally only sparsely populated. There was only the crew that was required to run the facility, construction, and repair crews that were on the station pretty much at all times. Aside from that, there was the crews of the docked ships coming and going, but they normally beamed straight onto their ships unless the transporters were being worked on, so the crews were seldom seen.

Today, Spacedock was packed to the rafters. Every news anchor, journalist, and reporter on the planet that could wrangle an invitation was here, as well as a large number of off-world media representatives of various stripes. The entire Admiralty was here, wearing their dress best, as was a huge contingent of security personnel there to keep the crowd under control. The families of most of the (known) crew of the Enterprise were there as well, eagerly (or worriedly, as the case might be) waiting for a glimpse of their loved ones. Every Earth-side member of Starfleet that could manage it had also arranged to be here. As a result, there was pretty much standing room only everywhere there was room for people to stand.

For all that there was a nearly unprecedented number of people in Spacedock at the moment, it was surprisingly quiet. There was a quiet, continuous murmur of sound as people spoke in hushed tones to their nearest neighbors, but speaking in normal tones was rare, and louder vocalizations were nonexistent.

Even that level of noise died as three ships came close enough to Spacedock to be seen by the naked eye. The Defiant and the Excalibur, two of the ships that had been in the Laurentian system and that had not yet been reassigned to patrols, were flying escort to either side of the Enterprise. Their gleaming, untouched hulls served as a rather horrifying comparison to the Enterprise. The Enterprise's hull was speckled with score marks, a number of the exterior lights were either turned off or had been blown off, and as it came closer everyone could see several gaping holes in the hull.

Then the Defiant and the Excalibur peeled off, and a female voice piped through Spacedock's intercom system.

"Approach control, this is Enterprise, ready for docking maneuvers."

"Enterprise is clear to dock." The on-duty controller's voice was surprisingly calm and steady, though a faint tinge of relief and delight could be detected if you listened close enough.

And then Kirk's voice, as the acting Captain gave the necessary orders. "Lock on."

Another male voice. "Systems locked."

Kirk again. "Spacedock, you have control."

This time, the delight and joy in the controller's voice was far more audible. "Affirmative, Enterprise. Enjoy the ride. And welcome home."

Kirk one last time. "Enterprise confirms."

+_+_+_+_+_+_

Jim breathed a mental sigh as Spacedock took over control of the Enterprise's movement in order to get them docked. They'd finally gotten back. It was good to see Spacedock again after two weeks of limping along. He made sure they weren't broadcasting to Spacedock anymore before he glanced at everyone on the bridge.

"Chekov, Uhura, Spock, you three go get cleaned up and in your dress uniforms if you have them aboard - a clean uniform if you don't, then come back up here. Sulu and I will hold the fort until you get back." Then he and Sulu could go get changed. He punched the button for Sickbay.

"Bones, you have everyone down there ready for transport?" He asked. Fortunately, there were only a handful of crewmen that still needed medical care at this point.

"Just finishing immobilizing Pike now." Bones said.

"Good, soon as you're finished with that, go get cleaned up so we can put on a proper show."

Bones didn't bother replying. He didn't need to. Jim could easily imagine the grumbling. Jim just toggled for Engineering.

"Scotty, we're docking. Go get cleaned up." He ordered.

"Aye aye, Captain." Scotty replied.

The three bridge crew headed for the lift as he talked to Bones and Scotty. Jim was glad for the lessened audience. He needed a little time to start getting his game face on. This was not going to be pretty. Their sensors made it quite clear that Spacedock was packed to the gills with people.

Jim had debated how to handle the offloading, but had eventually decided the bridge crew would beam into Spacedock first. They would attract the lion's share of the media attention. That would hopefully allow the rest of the crew to beam down and reunite with any family in Spacedock in privacy, rather than have microphones in their faces. It helped that three of the bridge crew - himself, Spock, and Bones - weren't going to have anyone in Spacedock to greet. Jim hadn't seen Winona at all - not even by vid - since he left for Tarsus, and hadn't seen Sam in person (though they'd talked a *lot*) since then either. Bones' father had died less than a year before his divorce became final, and his mother, while still alive, had never left Earth's atmosphere, and was unlikely to do so even now. Jim supposed Spock might have human relatives on Earth from his mother's family, but it didn't seem likely.

Uhura was probably going to be able to make up for the fact that three of them weren't expecting anyone. From what she'd said, what seemed like half of Africa was going to show up to welcome her home thanks to multiple siblings and an extensive extended family of cousins, nieces, nephews, and so on. Uhura's parents had indeed made them all welcome in their home in Kenya if they needed a refuge from the press. Jim was pretty sure they'd end up taking them up on it before all was said and done.

As for himself? Well, he knew what the masses wanted to see. Jim Kirk, Hero of Starfleet and the Federation, Nero's Conqeror, son of the great George Kirk. In other words, they were going to be expecting a show. And Jim was going to have to give it to them. Thank goodness he knew how to be flamboyant when the situation called for it. He didn't really even mind all that much, to be honest. He could take the heat and attention. The more attention was on him, the more the rest of the crew - especially Spock - would be spared.

Spock was back the quickest of the three that went to get cleaned up and changed. Jim nodded to him.

"You have the bridge, Spock. I'll be back in a bit." Jim told him.

He was going to have to borrow one of Bones' spare uniforms again, but at least they fit and would be clean. It was better than having to beam down in civvies.

Right about the time the Enterprise officially docked, they were all back on the bridge. Jim acknowledged the final sign-offs on the docking, then the real fun began.

"Spacedock, we have ten to beam directly to Starfleet Medical from Sickbay." Jim told them.

"Acknowledged, Enterprise. Starfleet Medical is standing by for transport." The comm officer on Spacedock told them.

"Transporter Room 1, lock on to Sickbay and transport in ten seconds."

"Aye aye, Captain." Came Scotty's voice. "Energizing in eight ... " He continued the countdown, then "Energizing."

A few moments later, they got a signal from Starfleet Medical indicating the five badly injured crewmen, Neurology expert and four nurses had arrived.

"Spacedock, Command Crew will be beaming down in two minutes." Jim warned them.

"Acknowledged, Enterprise."

They all finished shutting down the bridge then headed for the transporter room. One of the Engineering crew took over transporter controls for Scotty, and he joined them on the pad. Jim glanced around, making sure everyone was in position.

"We're going to get mobbed the second we materialize." He told them. "Stay close, and if anyone gets grabby, close ranks. Sulu, you have my permission to beat their asses." He said. He fully intended to get violent himself if anyone got out of hand, bad press be damned. He wasn't going to have his people be hounded.

Sulu grinned at him toothily. "My pleasure." He said.

Jim nodded at the crewman. "Energize." He commanded, then put a big grin on his face.

They beamed into a wall of bright lights and shouting. Jim felt the others edge closer to him, closing their formation in reaction to the racket. He had to blink a few times to clear his own vision. Once he could see properly, he realized that Starfleet had anticipated the crush. There was a contingent of beefy, grim-faced security guards around them, their backs to the Enterprise crew as they stared down the media reps trying to get to them.

Jim puffed his chest out and swaggered forward like he hadn't a care in the world. The security team moved with them, acting as a buffer to get them where they needed to go. Jim deliberately ignored them and reached past them, shaking hands and hamming it up for the cameras for all he was worth. The people were more than happy to let him. Better still, it was definitely taking some of the pressure of the rest of the command crew. They were still garnering a lot of attention, but Jim seemed to be defusing the worst of their rabidness with his play-acting.

Much to his amusement, Chekov seemed to catch on to what he was doing, and with a grin, started flinging himself at the press, playing up the wide-eyed, naive youth angle. Jim was glad to see him on what seemed like a more even keel. He'd noticed Chekov seemed to have been hit harder than some of the other crew. He seemed to have started to bounce back a couple of days ago thankfully.

Finally, they made it past the worst of the media crush, only to get swarmed a second time. This time, however, it was a far more pleasant swarm. Four sets of parents and not a few siblings (going by apparent ages) descended on them en-masse. Jim sensed more than saw Spock step close in behind him, using Jim's body as a buffer between him and the sudden onslaught of people. To his surprise, he saw Bones move to bracket Spock out of the corner of his eye. Evidently, Bones was finally beginning to forgive Spock, either that or Bones' protective streak had gotten drawn into action. Maybe both.

Jim stood with the two of them and watched the whole thing with a bit of amusement. It took a good fifteen or twenty minutes for everyone to calm down. Then, inevitably, came the introductions. Jim got to meet everyone's parents and the siblings that had managed to make it. Greetings and thanks did the rounds.

Then, finally, four Admirals led by Admiral Barnett approached. Jim was privately relieved that Komack wasn't one of the other four. Probably because the man couldn't manage to act grateful for the public's consumption. He saluted, followed a second later by the rest of the command crew.

"Admirals." He said.

"Acting Captain Kirk." Admiral Barnett said, giving them a nod. "Commander Spock, Cadets." Then, in a voice meant to be heard (and recorded) by the media representatives somewhere behind them. "You are all a credit to Starfleet."

There followed a little speech that Jim didn't pay any mind whatever to. Finally, Barnett gave a final sharp nod. "Let's get you planet-side, shall we?" He asked, and then motioned to the lurking security personnel, who immediately began making a path to the transporter pad.

The quiet of Starfleet Academy's Administration Building was a welcome relief after the racket in Spacedock. Here, there was a surprise waiting for them. Well, for Bones and Jim, anyway.

Standing not ten feet from the pad was none other than Sam Kirk. Jim's eyes went wide.

"Sam? Holy shit. How the hell ... ?"

"Like they were going to say no to a reunion after what you pulled?" Same asked somewhat rhetorically before pulling Jim into a hard hug. "You did good, Jim. Real good. Wish I could have been there with you. I would have enjoyed blowing that bastard to hell and gone."

Jim let out a laugh as he thumped Sam's back. "It did feel inordinately good." He admitted. Though not for reasons any of the eavesdropping Admirals would assume, he was sure. "

+_+_+_+_+_

A few feet away from Sam was Bones' surprise. His mother may not have been willing to go into space for any reason, but she hadn't been about to leave Leonard in the lurch entirely. That included having a ... discussion ... with Leonard's ex-wife, both to muzzle the woman's tongue and inform her that Joanna would be joining her in San Francisco, visitation agreements and rules be damned.

"Daddy!" Joanna McCoy, who had only just turned three, didn't quite understand what had happened two weeks ago. And she didn't care. All she cared about was the fact that her grandma was bringing her to see her daddy. She flung herself at her father, torn between climbing him and hugging his leg hard enough to cut off circulation.

Not that she needed to make a choice. Leonard had her in his arms and tucked against his side almost before she'd moved. "Jo, how's my peach blossom?"

Jo giggled at him. "I'm good, daddy."

Over her head, Leonard mouthed a heart-felt 'thank you' to his mother, who came in for her own hug. Leonard hadn't seen much of Joanna since the divorce. He hadn't been exaggerating all that much to Jim when he'd told him all he had left was his bones after the divorce. Jocelyn had gotten half of everything in the divorce, plus alimony, plus sole custody of Joanna while he got rather scant visitation terms. He'd largely had to make do with pictures, though his mother had been religious about taking as many pictures as she could manage every time Joanna got in range of her.

+_+_+_+_+_

"So, Aurelan and the boys are at a hotel near here." Sam said.

Jim boggled. "You're shitting me." He said. He'd never actually met Aurelan. They'd talked a time or two, but usually only 'oh, hi Jim, let me get Sam for you' sort of stuff. Peter, who was about the same age as Bones' little girl, Jim had talked to more. Mostly because Sam practically had to have Peter surgically removed from him for the first year. Jim supposed it was a first-time father thing he had no intention of ever experiencing. Aurelan had given birth to a second son just a month or two before all hell had broken loose. "We'll have to get together once things calm down a little bit."

Sam nodded. "Absolutely. Aurelan'll have my hide if I don't."

Jim laughed. "You are so whipped." He said.

"Happy to be." Sam pointed out.

"Hey, you still busy out back of beyond?" Jim asked as he had a thought.

"Not as busy as we were, no." Sam said. "Why?"

Jim jerked his head, indicating Spock. "I think some folks might be up for some help with biological research, you know?"

Sam nodded. "Good point." He agreed. "I'll bring it up with Aurelan, see what she thinks."

"In the meantime ... " Jim said, then motioned for Spock, who'd been looking a touch awkward, to come over. "This is Spock. He's the one that actually blew that ship the hell up. Drove another ship right up it's ass."

Sam grinned widely at Spock as Spock approached. "A nice bit of work, Mr. Spock. Couldn't have happened to a nicer maniac."

Spock looked a little befuddled for a moment before he settled on. "I believe the correct human phrase is 'you're welcome'."

Then, in a far more sober tone, Sam continued. "And I'm damn sorry about Vulcan. I imagine your people are going to be hearing this a lot in the weeks and months to come, but if there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to contact me. I'm a research biologist and my wife and I have spent most of the last decade on a colony world, so I know my way around that sort of environment."

Spock nodded. "I will ensure the Elders have your contact particulars." He said. "It will be some time before a place to settle is chosen, but a variety of skills will be needed once a world has been located."

Eventually, Bones was convinced to turn lose of Joanna, and they were all settled in their rooms, to be kept separate until their debriefings were done. That process would probably take a few days, given the sheer magnitude of events and how much there was to go over.

Once in his assigned room, Jim was quick to peel out of the borrowed uniform and take another shower. He wasn't exactly dirty, but the warm water would help him relax after all the showboating he'd done. He wasn't looking forward to the debriefing. He was going to get raked over the coals more than a little. Thank goodness that the regulations covered his ass. It'd stop the nay-sayers from doing something shit-stupid like drumming him out of Starfleet. Though Jim almost wished they'd try it. It would be amusing to sit back and watch the feeding frenzy that would result, without him having to do a damn thing to incite it.


	6. Interrogations, Part 1

Interrogations Part 1

Starfleet HQ

The Admirals decided to make Kirk sweat a bit, and interview him last. Spock they planned to talk to second to last. Most of them had elected to do him second to last not to try to make him anxious, which would be all but impossible due to his Vulcan heritage, but because he was one of the primary people involved in what had happened on the bridge and they wanted to get a clearer picture of events from everyone else first, to see if Spock and Kirk's versions tallied.

They were hoping to get the best, most truthful account out of Chekov. He was the youngest of the lot, the least trained, and thus the most likely to tell them the unvarnished truth. The questionings were all taking place in a fairly small room, especially for the number of people who would be present. The entire Admiralty was in attendance, though they were sitting on the other side of a long table, rather than behind big lecterns as they did in the main assembly hall. There was someone there in charge of recording the questionings, and a heavy security contingent. Some of them were inside the room, others stood just outside. Their presence was primarily to ensure that no paparazzi or angry parents of deceased Starfleet cadets (to name but a few possible problems) reached any of the Enterprise command crew or the Admiralty. Security in the entire campus had been increased, of course, but it wasn't foolproof, so extra guards were warranted.

The person being questioned was provided with a folding chair on which to sit, since everyone realized they'd be talking for hours with each person. On one side of the room stood a small table with a pitcher of water and a number of cups, to permit the Admiralty and whoever they were questioning to get a drink as needed.

Unfortunately for the Admiralty, Chekov was not nearly so naive as they hoped he was. He was smart enough to realize why they were talking to him first, and had planned accordingly. He had his 'innocent babe' face on: Wide eyes, awed expression, apparently unguarded body language, and accent thicker than normal.

Chekov wondered how long it would take for Kirk to call him on that. Yes, Chekov had an accent, but no, it was not nearly as thick as he liked to make it seem it was on a day-to-day basis. He got his amusement where he could find it. It never ceased to amuse him that no one ever seemed to realized that, in an era when *everyone* on Earth and almost all human-run worlds and space stations was taught to speak Standard from an early age, he shouldn't have such a horribly thick accent. Chekov wasn't anywhere near dumb enough to think he'd manage to hoodwink Kirk in like manner for long, if Kirk hadn't figured it out already. Kirk was every bit the showman Chekov had become. Chekov strongly suspected that Kirk had become such a showman for different reasons, however. What those reasons were, he didn't speculate. It wasn't any of his business.

He opened the door to the room the Admiralty was using just a bit and peeked around it, all wide-eyed innocence, hesitance, and awe. He mentally stifled a laugh at the almost gentle and solicitous actions his act brought out in the Admiralty as he sat on the chair in front of them, fidgeting as if nervous about the questioning. That, at least, wasn't fake. He really was nervous.

The first two questions are easy enough - neither of them touches on anything explosive. When did he take his post? What happened then? Chekov answered honestly; He'd been one of the first aboard, as ship assignments had been given alphabetically. As a result, he'd been the first on the bridge after Pike, as he'd been on the first shuttle to the Enterprise. He told about their initial problem getting to warp, feeling a little bad about the bollicking Sulu was likely to get for it. Then had come his announcement to the crew.

"And after that?" One of the Admirals asked.

And after that, things had gotten extremely interesting, Chekov thought to himself. "Possibly two minutes after I made the announcement, Cadet Kirk, Doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura raced onto the bridge." Chekov admitted. "Cadet Kirk was very insistent that we were heading into a trap. He argued with Captain Pike and Commander Spock about it. After perhaps a minute, they admitted he had a point, and Captain Pike ordered shields up. A few seconds later, we came out of warp above Vulcan."

Chekov didn't have to fake the horrified shudder and pained expression. "We would have been destroyed in moments without the shields. The other ships ... " He broke off, honestly distressed about talking about it. "They were broken into chunks, scattered all over. We rammed into quite a few bits of debris as we came out of warp - there was no way to avoid them."

He told them about Nero contacting them, and Pike heading off with Spock, Sulu, and Kirk in tow. He told them about Kirk yelling for a transport a bit later, and his frantic race to the transporter controls to rescue Kirk and Sulu. And of his inability to rescue Spock's mother a mere minute or so later.

At that point, they got into the exceedingly muddy waters surrounding Kirk's getting booted off the ship, returning, and Spock going apeshit. Fortunately by that point in the tale, the Admiralty had settled nicely into perceiving Chekov the way he'd hoped to be perceived by them, which would aid in his rendition of those events. It would not, at this point, occur to them that he was lying through his teeth.

He spun the tale they'd agreed on as a group. Kirk had been bright enough to not insist on every detail being identical - he'd just insisted that certain points be the same. The variations in the tales everyone would weave around those points would lend verisimilitude to the tale. After all, not everyone remembered events in the identical same way. Having all of them reporting an identical story would raise all sorts of flags.

Eventually, the Admiralty cleared him for return to the general populace. Despite that, he returned to the room he'd been assigned for the duration of the interrogations - he had no intention of wandering about alone after Kirk's warnings and witnessing how rabid the press had been with his own eyes.

(_)(_)(_)

Sulu was called in next. He had a feeling they were calling everyone in in the general order of the fishiness of their actions. Chekov first because he hadn't done anything fishy to speak of. Himself next because he had been a last-second replacement for the expected helmsman, which was very slightly fishy, but also something that was very easy to confirm. He'd also been one of the people who had spent time alone with Kirk. Well, alone sans any of the other crew, that is. Romulans didn't count.

He gave a rundown of those first few minutes that dovetailed with Chekov's. Then they got to the next interesting bit - the whole drill thing.

"Pike asked if anyone had advanced hand-to-hand combat training. I did, so I volunteered. Captain Pike more or less dragged Kirk along with myself and Commander Spock. Captain Pike briefed us on his plan as we were en route to the shuttle bay. Just before we boarded the shuttle, he transferred command to Commander Spock, and elevated Kirk to second in command."

"How hard had Kirk argued for that promotion?" An admiral asked.

Sulu laughed. "He hadn't actually said a word the entire way there until then. And quite frankly, sirs, when Captain Pike pulled that promotion out of his hat, Kirk gave him a look that asked just how insane Captain Pike had gone in the last twenty minutes." Which had the benefit of being the gospel truth. Kirk had looked rather entertainingly befuddled by his promotion.

Sulu explained about the trip down, and Olsen's idiocy. The fight with the Romulans, and Kirk's solution to the loss of the explosives they'd intended to use on the drill.

"I don't think I'll ever stop wondering if we'd have been able to save Vulcan if Olsen hadn't been such a moron." Sulu growled. "A third person to fight off the Romulans would have had the fight ending sooner, and the explosives would have cut that damn beam off a lot faster than shooting the drill did." He waved a hand. "Vulcan probably would have had to be evacuated anyway - that drill did a lot of damage by then - but most of the population might still be in existence."

That comment was sufficient to distract the Admiralty for a bit. Because it was a legitimate question. Sulu did not feel bad in the slightest that Olsen's chances of being well-remembered in death were vanishing rather quickly. Sulu wasn't about to cry bitter tears about that.

Sulu told of accidentally falling off the drill when it jerked into motion, and Kirk coming flying down after him, and the rather hair-raising fall and rescue from there. And then he told his version of events as they happened on the bridge after that.

He could tell a couple of the Admirals weren't quite buying it, but given they'd been the ones asking the most pointed, leading questions during his interrogation, that didn't surprise him. It was clear that bunch was looking for any excuse to vilify the Enterprise's crew ... for all the good it'd do them. Sulu wasn't going to take bets on how well that was going to pan out. They'd saved the bloody planet. Sulu was pretty sure that at this point they could collectively moon the entire universe and be forgiven for it, at least by Earth's population. Trying to make any of them out to be a bad guy over this would get everyone breathing down the Admiralty's neck.

They wanted a further account of the two weeks they'd spent making their way to Spacedock, and paid rather inordinate attention to the fact that Kirk seemed more inclined to actually fixing things and riding herd on his green-as-the-grass crew so no one overworked themselves than he had been in endless meetings and paperwork and staying aloof from his crew. Sulu got more than a little irked, but kept any insubordinate remarks firmly behind his teeth.

Eventually, they let him go. Sulu breathed a quiet sigh of relief, then headed for the room he'd been given. They'd told him that Chekov had already been questioned, so he decided to stop by Chekov's room once he'd gotten a breather from the questioning.

(_)(_)(_)

Uhura didn't much appreciate the time she had to cool her heels. By the time the Admiralty had gotten done talking to Chekov and Sulu, they'd decided to wrap up for the day. Of course, Uhura wasn't supposed to know who they'd questioned already. Jim had clearly been at it again, and had somehow managed to re-establish a net connection to the computer in her room remotely. That had allowed her to eavesdrop via the recording gear in the room the Admiralty was using. She'd caught the latter half of Chekov's questioning, which had had her in stitches. She could tell he was playing them like a finely tuned instrument ... and they didn't have a clue. Sulu's questioning had been only marginally less entertaining. She couldn't wait to see how many knots Jim twisted them into.

Finally, though, just after breakfast the next day, she was summoned. She decided to take a page out of both Chekov and Spock's books. By which she meant that she intended to play them like fiddles by being at her aloof, remote, Vulcan-esque best.

More than one person over the years had wondered, sometimes to her face, if she didn't have Vulcan ancestry somewhere in her family tree due to that act of hers. Uhura had developed it fairly young because she'd been ... well, quite pretty ... and it had garnered her a lot of attention she'd wanted no part of. Being an Ice Bitch tended to put the guys off.

She loathed people who presumed she was nothing more than a pretty face, and took great pleasure in proving otherwise to them. Jim had, in that respect, gotten lucky that night in the bar. He'd been so clearly sloshed half out of his mind that she hadn't taken true offense at his hitting on her. When he'd tracked her down later and congratulated her on stomping a verbal and physical mud hole in the presumptuous security-track cadet, she'd decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. The rest, as they say, was history.

The Admiralty wasn't going to get the benefit of the doubt. It was clear to her from the body language and tone of voice from some of them (never mind the actual questions they asked) that they utterly despised Jim and were looking for any excuse to be rid of him. And if they were in that frame of mind over Jim, the odds of them being in like mind about Spock were equally as high, even if they weren't being quite so pointed in their questions about Spock. She wasn't going to give them any ammunition if she could help it.

Uhura took a mental bet with herself as to what their first question would be. She won.

"Lieutenant Uhura, according to our records, you were initially assigned to the Farragut. Yet somehow you ended up on the Enterprise. How did that occur?" One of the Admirals asked.

"I assume there was a clerical error, given the rapidity with which everyone was assigned ships for the mission." Uhura said. "And that error was corrected at the last second, assigning me to the Enterprise."

Not the truth, of course, but entirely plausible. Shuffling some seven hundred or so ship assignments within half an hour gave a lot of opportunities for accidental error. Especially when some folks had to be changed around unexpectedly, like Sulu had been.

"And then?"

"I reported to my station in Engineering. A few minutes later, Cadet Kirk came racing up with Doctor McCoy on his heels, asking me about the transmission I'd intercepted the evening before."

"And how did he learn of that transmission?"

"He was, at the time, in a dalliance with my roommate, and was in the room with her, initially unbeknownst to me, when I spoke to her of it." Uhura said. She could tell more than one Admiral wanted to ask how she hadn't known he was in the room, but were equally afraid to do so. Rightfully so in this case.

"And then what happened?"

"I confirmed that the attacking ship mentioned in the transmission had been claimed to be Romulan, and Cadet Kirk went racing off again, this time to the bridge. Doctor McCoy and I both followed. Myself more out of confusion than anything else. Doctor McCoy was busy trying to fix whatever was wrong with Cadet Kirk right then. His hands had swollen hugely and he got a case of numb tongue."

She then recounted the argument on the bridge, and her elevation to comm officer thanks to her knowledge of the Romulan language and how it differed from Vulcan. Then the events after that. At that point, things got ever so slightly ugly.

The Admiralty was aware of her relationship with Spock. While relationships with a superior or teacher were not disallowed, the student/teacher relationships tended to be watched carefully, as student translated to 'young' in most peoples' heads, and it was assumed a student would be less able to stand up against improper behavior than a fully trained, older member of Starfleet. The scrutiny had always amused Uhura, because she couldn't think of a person less likely to break the rules than Spock. Right now, though, that scrutiny was not serving her well, because they started asking her all sorts of very pointed questions about Spock and his behavior from the moment he took command on.

Uhura point-blank refused to answer the leading questions at all, just gave the person who'd asked it a flat, unimpressed glare. The rest of the questions, she picked and chose, refusing to answer any that were prying into their relationship more than Spock's actions. It didn't take the Admiralty very long to get the hint and quit asking the wrong questions.

They wanted to know about Spock's blowup, of course, and Uhura gladly stuck with the general story Jim had worked out. She then told about what she'd done as the temporary acting Captain when Spock and Jim had both taken off to go beat the hell out of the Romulans and retrieve Captain Pike. 

"I have no idea what happened aboard that ship, but whatever it was, it let Cadet Kirk and Commander Spock work out their differences." She said. "They came back aboard ... far more congenial with each other than when they'd left." And that was putting it mildly.

Uhura had been startled by the change. The sudden synchronicity of their movements, their awareness of where each other was standing even when they weren't looking at each other. They'd moved with and around each other like they'd been working together for decades, not less than a day. And the antagonism between them had completely disappeared. They'd been wholly, completely united in purpose. 

More intriguingly, it hadn't faded. Over the two week haul back to Spacedock, she'd seen it literally every day, though somewhat muted compared to what it had been when they'd first stalked back onto the bridge like a pair of tigers on the prowl - sleek, focused, and utterly deadly. It had dimmed down to a more normal awareness of each other, sans the predatory air.

As with Sulu, they also wanted her to give a rundown of the two week trip, which she did happily enough. She did, though, wonder why they hadn't asked Chekov about it, before deciding that they had assumed Chekov wouldn't have picked up on anything of import. More fools they. Eventually, they were satisfied and let her go.

Uhura immediately went and tracked down Chekov and Sulu, and invited them to her quarters, explaining about the bypass Jim had somehow managed in low tones. They both agreed swiftly, eager to watch the rest of the questioning. They both agreed that Jim's questioning was going to be entertaining as hell.

(_)(_)(_)

Unlike Uhura, Scotty was grateful for the extra time he had to prepare for his questioning. Mostly because he would have to be answering some very sticky questions without revealing the exact provenance of one of his unexpected guests on Delta Vega. There would be a shitstorm of epic proportions if it became common knowledge to the Admiralty that there was someone from a future, alternate reality hanging about. At least his questioning would be relatively shorter, given his knowledge started at roughly the halfway point of the proceedings. Nor, aside from getting onto the Enterprise and figuring out how to deal with the Romulans and their ship, had Scotty had much direct interaction with Kirk and the rest of the bridge crew during the whole mess.

He walked into the room and headed immediately for the sideboard where the pitcher of water and cups sat and poured himself a cup before he sat down. Not incidentally, he ignored the Admiralty in the process. Hey, they'd *let* that ruddy bastard Archer exile him to Delta Vega over a bloody dog - he'd disrespect them if he so pleased. It wasn't like they could send him someplace worse. He flopped down in his seat, careful not to spill the water, and then waited for the questions to start.

"When did you become aware there were people other than yourself and your assistant on Delta Vega?" An admiral asked.

"When Keenser walked into the control room with 'em." Scotty told them. "I thought they were there to bring in supplies. Which I'd been without for six months, I'll have you know. So I didn't think anything of them showing up at the time. Not until they started talking anyway."

"And what did they say?"

"They asked who I was. I asked if they'd brought my supplies. They hadn't, of course, and I ranted at them a bit. Then the older chap asked if I was the Scott that had the theory about transwarp beaming. I told him of course I was. He asked me if I'd worked it out, 'cause the kid needed to get back to his ship. I had, so ... "

"You have worked out ... " An Admiral interrupted.

Grateful he'd been able to memorize the equation the old guy'd put into the computer, and would be able to replicate it if asked, Scotty confirmed it. "Aye, I did. Figured out what went wrong with my first attempt. Got myself and Kirk aboard the ship. The old guy didn't want to go, so I had Keenser stay behind to keep an eye on him, just in case."

That hadn't really been it, of course, but the less this lot knew about that old man, the better.

"And who was the second person with Kirk?" Another Admiral wanted to know.

"No idea. Wasn't much for answering questions, that one. Looked and acted Vulcan, though, and Kirk sure wasn't trying to kick his ass or acting like he'd been captured, so ... " Scotty shrugged.

They looked like they wanted to sidetrack and talk more about the equation, and Scotty was more than willing to let them if they went that route. Unfortunately, they eventually decided to table that line of questioning in favor of what they were actually there for.

Scotty told them what he knew of the events that had happened after he and Kirk had gotten aboard the Enterprise, and the mad effort to keep them from being swallowed by that final black hole. They then inquired about the two weeks afterward. They'd wanted to know what he'd had to do to patch the Enterprise back together again, how helpful Kirk had been, whether or not he'd run into any problems getting what he needed.

Fortunately, the answer to those problems had pretty much been 'Kirk knew what I needed almost before I did, and generally had it on hand before I needed it.' How, exactly, the kid had managed that, Scotty wasn't sure, but he assumed that Kirk had conferred with someone more experienced - possibly even Captain Pike, as Pike had regained consciousness a day or so after Kirk had. Not that he told the Admiralty about that suspicion. For one, he wasn't sure that's what Kirk had done, and for two, it wasn't any of their damn business if Kirk had gone to Pike. That was only common sense, as far as Scotty was concerned. Kirk hadn't even graduated yet, and he'd been thrown into the big seat. As far as Scotty was concerned, Kirk was entitled to as much help as he could beg, borrow, or steal under those circumstances. And however he'd done it, Kirk had acquitted himself damn well.

Eventually, the Admiralty had their fill. Scotty had the feeling his interview had been shorter than some of the others, simply because he hadn't been there for everything. Once he'd taken his leave, he headed for his room. He found Uhura waiting for him just outside his door, and she invited him over to her room with the others that had been interrogated already to watch the fun of the others. Scotty was more than happy to agree.

(_)(_)(_)

Bones knew he was going to be in more than a little trouble right off the bat when he was called in. After all, he was the one that got Jim aboard the Enterprise, and in a rather questionable way. Fortunately, he'd had weeks to prepare for this interrogation. Doubly fortunately, he had Jim's recorded history of health issues and his known allergy to back him up, so it wasn't like he was going to get caught with his ass in the wind.

He stomped into the room with his datapad in hand. That datapad had the medical details that he'd doubtlessly be asked about on it. Not that the Admiralty could or would ask for specifics on any one person - doctor-patient confidentiality was strictly adhered to - but they would want to know general details. How many were injured lightly, how many severely, how many would have permanent problems, that sort of thing.

"Doctor McCoy. Would you care to explain to us how Cadet Kirk came to be aboard the Enterprise?" An Admiral asked.

"Cadet Kirk has an allergy to a compound present in genetically engineered grains and quite a number of hyposprays that is designed to aid in absorption. Despite keeping a close eye on his diet and my own close attention to his medical needs, he does still come in contact with this compound from time to time, and suffers the consequences. This was one of those times. As I am his doctor of record, I was well within my rights to bring him aboard the Enterprise to treat him, as no other doctors are as aware of his medical issues as I am, and even if they were, most of us were boarding the various ships heading out." McCoy said.

He could tell that some of the Admirals didn't quite believe his explanation, but it was close enough to the truth to pass muster. Jim had, after all, ended up needing medical attention for exposure to that damned compound several times over the last few years. Mostly when he forgot himself and tried a new, alien foodstuff without checking it first, and once when he'd gotten injured and Bones hadn't been immediately available. Some other doctor had started treating Jim and ... well, the results hadn't been pretty, since the doctor assumed that Jim was just being a difficult patient when Jim got stroppy about being given a hypo. After that incident, Bones had made damn sure that he was pulled out of whatever the hell he was doing if Jim came in injured. Fortunately, Jim had never been hurt that badly again, and had merely waylaid Bones once Bones returned to their quarters.

"And once you were on board?"

"I took him to Sickbay and started treating the allergic reactions he was having." Bones said. "Next thing I know, he's jumping up and racing off. I hadn't realized why, at first. Not until we got to Uhura's station and he started talking to her. Then I realized he'd latched onto something in the announcement that had been broadcast through the ship. He wasn't making a damn bit of sense to me at the time. I tried to deflect him, and explain to Pike he was out of his head, only it turned out he actually wasn't. Damn good thing he picked up on the problem, too. We'dve been destroyed real damn fast if the shields hadn't been up from the start. We'd either have gotten pulverized by the remains of the other ships or gotten blow up just like they had by that damn crazy Romulan."

Bones gave a rundown of further events, including Doctor Puri's death and his assumption of CMO status for the rest of the emergency. He'd been far, far too busy keeping people alive for most of that to have any idea what the hell was going on on the bridge until Vulcan had been ash in the wind.

He was asked about Spock's behavior prior to him declaring himself compromised. Bones admitted that Spock's behavior, while technically logical and within the usual parameters for Vulcan behavior, had been ... off. Unfortunately, Bones didn't have enough experience with Vulcans to have been able to realize just how bad things had gotten for Spock until everything blew up on the bridge.

Bones was faintly tempted to tell the Admiralty the truth of what had happened on the bridge. He was still a little pissed at Spock for damn near killing Jim. Luckily for Spock, enough of Bones' ire had faded for him to acknowledge that Jim had the right of the situation. The Admirals were looking for a scapegoat, and most of them wouldn't hesitate to make Spock that scapegoat despite him being Vulcan and sympathy for Vulcans being understandably high right now. While Bones thought that Spock needed to be called to account for his actions, he wasn't about to subject the hobgoblin to the Admiralty's skewed idea of justice. As a result, he kept to the story that Jim had worked out.

Next on their menu was events after Jim took command, primarily the attack on the Romulan ship and how that came about.

"We all knew Nero had to be stopped. He'd blown up Vulcan, so there was no question of his willingness to do that to Earth, and then to who-knew-which planets after that." Bones said. "And it was real clear that not much of anyone could take that ship on and win. The Klingons lost their entire damn fleet to the thing, and we lost seven ships in a matter of minutes. So we knew we had to be sneaky. It was the kid, Chekov, that figured out how to do it. He'n Sulu worked together to warp us right into the upper atmosphere of one of Titan, which hid us from Nero's sensors and let us get Kirk and Spock aboard her to try to find the source of that bloody shit they used to blow up Vulcan, and maybe even rescue Pike, if he was still alive, which we weren't sure of at the time."

"I dunno what happened over there, but Kirk came back toting Pike, who could just barely stand under his own power at the time. I rushed him to sickbay. On the way I discovered the slug they'd put in him so I rushed him into surgery and got the damn thing out as fast as I could. Wasn't quite fast enough to prevent Pike from suffering temporary paralysis from the waist down, but at least it *will* be only temporary." Bones growled, looking displeased at having failed Pike to that degree.

"I'd just gotten Pike dealt with when Spock yelled for me to get to the bridge. Literally yelled. I hoofed it up there and found the entire bridge crew frantically trying to keep Kirk alive after he'd apparently succumbed to the accumulated injuries of the last few days. Once I pulled Kirk into surgery, I discovered he'd been running around with ... quite extensive damage. Broken bones, bruised and lacerated organs, the whole bit. Even with adrenaline helping, I don't know how the hell he stayed on his feet as badly hurt as he was at the end." Bones admitted. It had the benefit of being the gospel truth. 

The only thing Bones had been able to figure is that Jim hadn't collapsed or died because such words weren't in his vocabulary. He'd known for three years that Jim was a stubborn asshole about everything. It only made sense that he'd be too damned stubborn to die when he really ought to have. Bones could only hope that stubbornness kept working, because he had a feeling that Jim would need it a lot in the future.

The Admirals asked about the ride home, wanting to know how many people had gotten killed or injured altogether, once there'd been time to do a head count. How many people had been injured after the emergency was over, during their two week hike back to civilization. The answers had been 'too damn many' and 'not as many as expected' respectively. Jim's mother hen tendencies had worked well in keeping additional injuries to a minimum. Oh, there'd still been some, thanks to broken equipment and such collapsing, blowing up, or sparking unexpectedly, but injuries attributable to hunger or exhaustion-driven mistakes had been virtually nonexistent.

Eventually, the Admiralty wound down and Bones was released. He headed for his quarters, and like Scotty before him, was met by Uhura. This time, due to the late hour, there wouldn't be any interrogations to watch, though she invited him to come over the next day when they got to Spock and Jim. The rest of the bridge crew was celebrating a thus-far successful set of interrogations with a bit of a party - some booze, some food, and some good company. Bones had been willing enough to join them, though he planned to spend at least some time the next day with his mother and daughter, since both of them were still in town and had plans to remain so for quite a while.


	7. Interrogations, Part 2

Interrogations, Part 2

(_)(_)(_)

Starfleet HQ

Uhura had fetched Bones as soon as he'd escaped the Admirals, and filled him in on what Jim had done and they were doing.

"Of course he did that, the brat." Bones growled, rolling his eyes.

"I have a feeling he did it for a reason." Uhura pointed out.

"He's always doing things for a reason, gal. Doesn't mean that reason makes any sense to the rest of us, or has anything more'n a passing resemblance to common sense." Bones pointed out. "Still, I'll watch with you lot. Can't really do anything until they release us, and having company's better than boring myself to tears."

The next morning, everyone who'd been interviewed convened in Uhura's rooms for breakfast, not wanting to risk the Admirals calling Spock or Kirk earlier than they'd called the rest of them. Fortunately, the Admirals had not been inclined to do that, and everyone'd eaten and found a comfortable spot on bed, chair, or floor before Spock was summoned. Sulu even started taking bets, though he kept them innocent enough - no credits would be changing hands, just various foodstuffs, as none of them wanted to bet on serious things. Most of the bets were along the lines of 'I bet half a sandwich the bald guy rubs his head three times' and other innocent-enough bets.

Unbeknownst to them, Jim had settled in his own room, still sequestered until later in the day, to watch the video feed he'd set up for the rest of them to enjoy. He'd been watching everyone's interviews - less to make sure they stuck to the story and more to make sure that none of them were given an unnecessarily hard time. He was fully able and willing to hold a grudge against any of the Admirals that went over the line, and had spent a lot of time contemplating revenge options. He was glad that so far he'd not needed any of those ideas, but he had a feeling that was going to change now. Someone was bound to cross a line or three with either himself or Spock.

(_)(_)(_)

Spock had used the day-and-a-half wait until he was questioned to meditate and patch more of the damage done to his mind by the death of so many Vulcans. He'd had very little opportunity to do such repair work in the last two weeks, having to limit himself to normal meditation. Unfortunately, due to the mental damage, normal meditation was not as efficacious as it normally was. Thus, having so much time at his disposal was most beneficial. While he was by no means recovered from the trauma, he was in a far better state of repair mentally than he had been up to now, and that was fortuitous, given the day's coming events.

In his meditations, he had not seen the tenuous link that had started between himself and Jim. He presumed it had broken naturally at some point, which was a relief. It had to have been unstable given the circumstances under which it had been formed. At least he now would not have to seek out his father for assistance in breaking the bond. While the cause had been sufficient, he supposed, he was not best pleased to have had that happen.

He arrived promptly for his questioning, datapad in hand. While his memory was quite sufficient for most questions the Admiralty might ask, there was always the chance they would ask about something he had been only peripherally aware of, or not present for. Also, the datapad held audio and audiovisual recordings of most of the events of import. Normally, it would all have been audiovisual, but in several cases, the visual recording equipment in the area in question had been damaged by the battles they'd fought, or the escape from the wormhole.

Spock was still trying to figure out how Jim - and there was no question in his mind that it was, in fact, Jim who had done it - had managed to so seamlessly and undetectably alter the bridge recordings with a plausible encounter that explained his 'compromised' state without being as potentially damaging and inflammatory as what had actually occurred. He was still less than comfortable with lying about those events, but it was his only option at this point if he did not wish to damage the futures of the entire bridge crew. Also, he had to admit that Jim's reasons for lying had some logic in them - the chances of one or more of the Admirals having anti-Vulcan sentiments and/or looking for a convenient scapegoat were quite high. It was totally illogical and made no sense, but it was never the less true.

He entered the meeting room that had been set aside for the questionings and nodded respectfully to the gathered Admiralty. He set his datapad down on the small table that sat beside the chair meant for the person being questioned and stood in his usual 'resting' pose, straight and attentive, with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Take a seat, Commander." One of the Admirals said, indicating the chair. "We will be here for some hours."

"I am aware of this." Spock told him. "I never the less wish to stand."

More than one of the Admirals got an odd look on their face that Spock didn't know how to read, but they let it go. Spock had gotten a lot better at deciphering human facial expressions and the emotions they represented, but he had a long way to go before he'd be able to pick up on random expressions quickly.

"Commander Spock, would you explain why you reassigned Lieutenant Uhura to the Enterprise?" One of the Admirals asked.

"She was to have been assigned there." Spock said, which had the benefit of being the truth. "In the haste of assigning posts prior to leaving for Vulcan, someone made an error and placed her on the USS Farragut. I merely corrected the error when it was brought to my attention." 

That part was true - from a certain point of view. Spock gave the Admirals a flat, blank, emotionless glare that never the less dared them to bring up his relationship with her, or accuse him of favoritism. Fortunately, none of them did so. Spock wasn't sure if that was because his explanation was logical and close enough to the full truth to be believable, or because they were wise enough not to question even a half-Vulcan's dedication to logic and emotional control.

The next few questions were standard, establishing when he arrived on ship and what had occurred. Then one of the Admirals asked about Jim's first appearance on the bridge.

"No one on the bridge was aware that Cadet Kirk had been brought on board. Cadet Kirk arrived at the bridge at a full run, and demanded that Captain Pike stop the ship. Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura ran in behind him. Doctor McCoy immediately began attempting to explain that Cadet Kirk was in medical distress." Spock said. "Captain Pike demanded to know how Kirk was aboard, but the Cadet ignored him in favor of attempting to continue demanding the ship stop and explaining why. He mentioned that in the shipwide announcement of our mission, Cadet Chekov had said the words 'lightning storm in space' - the same phrase used to describe the phenomenon the USS Kelvin was dispatched to investigate prior to its destruction, and that a Klingon fleet had been destroyed by an enormous ship of Romulan design - again, a description that fitted with the USS Kelvin's encounter. Captain Pike found Cadet Kirk's arguments sufficiently logical to raise shields as a precaution."

They asked further questions about the next span of time. Not once did Spock have to so much as stretch the truth. Then, they got to the point where Spock had left the ship to collect the Elders.

"Surely, this was an illogical move." One of the Admirals said. "Leaving the ship to rescue ... a mere dozen, I believe? Of your fellows?"

"It was most logical." Spock said. "The Elders are far more than the leaders of our people." He told them. He had known he'd have to explain this, and had decided to go with the explanation that had worked with Uhura.

"If a Vulcan has sufficient warning of impending death, they are able to leave behind a telepathic legacy. All they knew, all they had done in their lives. This telepathic legacy is then stored in a special place in a particular way." 

He wasn't about to go into the details. For one, they'd never believe him. For another, that was something even more private and precious to the Vulcan people than Pon Farr. Even explaining this much was making him uncomfortable.

"It is the responsibility of the Elders to collect those legacies if an emergency dire enough to require it occurs, so they are not lost. The imminent destruction of our planet qualified. To protect the legacies, the place where they are stored cannot be reached by any method but on foot. I knew that the Elders would be unaware of how little time they had remaining. Because my father is one of the Elders, I knew the location of the repository and how to get there from the nearest beaming coordinates. It would have taken far more time than the planet had remaining to explain to someone else and have them beam down." Spock explained.

Quite a few of the Admirals looked skeptical, but they weren't calling him on it, much to his private relief. He could get any one of the Elders to back him up on this, but he'd rather not have to.

Then, of course, the more difficult questions began, as the Admirals attempted to ascertain when and how badly he'd become compromised. This, though it bothered Spock not a little to admit to it, he was as honest about as he could be.

"I was compromised from the moment I was informed that Vulcan was going to be destroyed." He admitted. "Though at that point, I was not yet compromised to the point of being unfit for command. I reached that point when Vulcan exploded." He kept his expression blank with a lot of effort. "We are a telepathic people, Admirals. I *felt* my people die." It took a supreme effort, even now, two weeks after the fact, to keep the quaver out of his voice.

He admitted to not thinking clearly where Jim had been concerned - the fact he'd opted for exile to a planet over a stay in the brig was more than evidence enough there - and on the subject of what to do next. Once he'd been called on his compromised state and had a chance to think about the decisions he'd made with a clearer head, even he had wondered what he thought he would accomplish by retreating to the Laurentian system. Earth would have died, and who knew how many other planets after it.

Then they got to the sticky part. The incident on the bridge that snapped him out of it enough to admit to his compromised state. Spock stuck to the agreed on story. To whit, Kirk had reappeared, there had been a vociferous verbal argument, supplemented more than a little by Doctor McCoy. After a few minutes of raised voices, Spock had been forced to see and admit the logic of their positions, and realize that he was compromised. He had then relinquished command to Jim and retreated briefly in an effort to get his head on straight. Or as straight as it was going to get under the circumstances.

Many of them looked skeptical enough that Spock noticed it. Several of them started to ask pointed, antagonistic questions. Fortunately, They only ever got partway through those questions before one of the more moderate Admirals shushed them. One of them actually faltered in the face of Spock's blank, emotionless stare.

Eventually, they got back on track and began asking questions about events after his admittance of being compromised. Spock told them everything he knew, and finally had to resort to the datapad he'd brought with him, as he had not been present for the entire conversation that had resulted in their plan of attack on the Narada.

Then, when the Admirals' curiosity had been satisfied on those accounts, they began a close questioning of the events after the Narada had been defeated. From the slant of their questions, it was swiftly clear to Spock that they were looking for any actionable irregularity in Jim's stint as Captain. Since the only thing that could have gotten Jim in trouble was his active collusion to protect Spock, Spock gave them nothing to work with. Eventually, they ran out of questions, and he was released to his quarters.

Upon his return there, he was met by Nyota, who encouraged him to come to her quarters. Once there, she explained what Jim had done, and that they had all been watching the various questionings. Spock was more than a little confused as to why Jim had arranged for this.

"That makes all of us." Nyota admitted. "I think part of it was him wanting to make sure none of us were unduly pressured by the Admirals, but the Doctor is of the opinion there's more to it than that, and I have a tendency to agree with him. Problem is, none of us can figure out what it is."

Spock thought about it a minute, and then realized he thought he knew what it was about. "The investigation I instigated over his actions with the Kobayashi Maru ... he intends to finish that." He said.

The others all looked at each other. Finally, Bones spoke up. "That ... makes a lot of sense." He finally admitted. "Jim's had a bone to pick about that scenario since he got to the Academy. He's not going to leave that alone. Especially not now."

(_)(_)(_)

Jim had moved fast once they'd been shown to their rooms to wait for their interviews/interrogations. He'd made a beeline for the computer console and spent a good ten minutes finding out where the interviews would be taking place, where the others' rooms were, and suchlike things. He then hacked things so that Uhura could watch. He chose her for two reasons. One, he knew her well enough to know she'd drag the others in after she'd been interviewed. Two, he knew how good she was at parsing clues from tone and body language, and he wanted someone with that sharp an eye to watch the proceedings. He was a fair hand at spotting trouble, but he was nowhere in Uhura's league, and he wanted to know just who on the Admiralty board was going to be how much trouble ... and over which issues. Uhura could tell him that just from watching the interviews.

He'd known they'd go for him last. Actually, he'd planned on it. He wasn't about to let his attack on the Kobayashi Maru scenario get swept under the rug. He found it more than a little ironic that the events of two weeks ago had kind of made his point for him. Or, the difference between Pike's approach to that shit and Robau's did, anyway. If only a little. His own reaction was a somewhat better point. But he'd get to that after the innumerable questions they were going to have for him.

So far, thankfully, things hadn't been too bad. A few of the Admirals had been looking for something on Spock, but they hadn't been over the top about it. They'd mostly concentrated on trying to find holes in Jim's actions to get him in trouble with. That, he could handle.

He was ready for them when they sent someone to tell him it was his turn. He'd debated with himself as to what approach to take. He'd been far too tempted to swagger in, all cockiness and attitude, but eventually he convinced himself that it was a bad idea. He'd be giving them enough kittens without acting like that as well. In the end, he decided to throw them a curveball they'd not be anticipating, because they'd never seen this side of him. They'd seen his 'fuck the rules' side, and his 'studious student' side once he'd calmed down midway through his first year, but they hadn't seen any of the other parts of him.

So it was that a freshly washed, neatly pressed, calm and confident James Kirk strode into the room. There was no trace of the brash arrogance that had so defined his first year, nor the (to the Admirals' eyes) impulsive brat who had messed with their test. This was a young man who had been tested and tried in ways most of the Admirals could not begin to understand, who knew who he was and what he was capable of.

This was as much an act as the rash arrogance and impulsiveness. Which was to say that it was a part of his personality - but magnified and refined and aimed at a particular audience. It just happened that this particular facet was less exaggerated than the others. He really had been tried in fires these people had never faced - at least no single one of them had. Jim wasn't dumb enough to think that their lives had been all roses. The main difference was that for most of them, their challenges had been faced as adults, trained to deal with the sorts of chaos and mayhem being in Starfleet could throw at you. Jim hadn't had that luxury.

The main exaggeration lay in the 'knew who he was and what he was capable of' parts of the equation. Jim was still getting a handle on those, so this act was a projection of what he hoped to be someday rather than where he already was.

He acknowledged the Admirals smartly and correctly, careful to keep his voice calm and respectful, then sat, back straight and expression attentive. Internally, he was snickering with admittedly childish glee. The Admirals, almost to a one, looked a little confused by his approach. One or two looked thoughtful rather than confused, but Jim knew from prior experience that those one or two were the ones most like Pike had ended up - willing to ignore who Jim's father was and take Jim on his own merits ... and to look beyond the childish antics and see the cause of them.

"Cadet Kirk. Explain to us how you came to be aboard the Enterprise." One Admiral asked.

Jim mentally smirked. "I had had nothing to eat all day save an apple." He admitted. Completely false, but they had no way to find that out. Very few people were aware of exactly how anal retentive he was about his diet - it really boiled down to just Bones. Uhura had an idea, Jim knew, but she didn't know the full extent of it. "In the rush of everyone racing around, I grabbed something to eat. Unfortunately, in my rush, I paid less attention to what I grabbed than normal, and it must have had something with the compound I'm allergic to in it. Thankfully, Doctor McCoy hadn't been assigned and sent to his ship yet, and was close by enough for me to reach while in medical distress. He hypo'd me with something to manage the symptoms until he could get me aboard the Enterprise and deal with things in full there, then dragged me aboard his transport."

There wasn't anything they could harp on there without getting into worlds of trouble with Starfleet Medical, so they went for the next question.

"And then?"

Jim explained about being dragged into Sickbay and Bones hypoing his allergies into submission (hah). About hearing Chekov's announcement and the nova that went off in his head at the phrase 'lightning storm in space'.

"It took me all of about two seconds to put together the Klingon fleet being decimated and that phrase and come up with a whole lot of trouble." Jim told them honestly. "I knew calling from Sickbay wasn't going to work - Pike'd just shut off the comm before I could explain, so I raced to engineering to ask Uhura if the attacking ship had been Romulan - mostly to add that one extra bit of surety to my conclusion - and then bolted for the bridge." 

He hadn't really even realized he'd had Bones in his wake until he'd reached Uhura and the bastard had hypo'd him again, and hadn't known Uhura had followed them until they reached the bridge, he'd been so focused on his goal.

The next questions were as predictable, and as easy to answer without lying, as there had been absolutely nothing he'd done to get Pike to make him second in command, or ... well, anything he'd done wrong, to put it bluntly. The worst he'd done was dive after Sulu, and even that hadn't been out of line. He'd had a parachute that *ought* to have deployed correctly, saving them both from going splat. Not his fault the thing malfunctioned. It was only after they'd gotten back on board the Enterprise that things started getting dicey and he started having to lie like a rug.

The biggest issue, of course, aside from Spock's meltdown, was the old guy. Jim was telling them absofuckingloutly nothing about the old guy. Not even a name. He had no idea if the old guy wanted to make himself known, or what the deal there was, and until he did know, he wasn't saying a damn thing. He knew he had to admit to having help getting to Scotty, but he was going to leave it at 'some elderly Vulcan male'. After all, exchanging names and other information when getting to shelter was a priority was illogical, wasn't it? Or at least, that's what Jim was hoping they'd think.

Of course, they weren't too happy about that, and kept poking and prodding at it. That and his actions after he got back on board. Jim kept his cool with effort, and refused to waver from his initial answers to the questions. After the third attempt at tripping him up on any given answer, he answered any further attempts with a flat, unimpressed glare and a pointed 'I answered that already'.

Eventually, they gave up and tried to shoo him out. Jim restrained a grin with great effort.

"With respect, Admirals, there is still one matter that needs to be dealt with, that I would prefer not to leave hanging." Jim told them.

They didn't bother pretending they didn't know what he was on about.

"Are you certain you wish to continue your trial now?" One Admiral asked.

"More than ever." Jim said.

They looked at each other, then one of them signaled to have Spock brought back in. Whoops. Jim hoped he had time enough to get back to his assigned quarters so that questions weren't raised.

Evidently he had managed it, because there was no hint of anything amiss when he was led in by the Admirals' gofer. Spock slid a look his way that Jim didn't know how to parse - reading a Vulcan's facial expressions was damn difficult. They had them, but Jim had noticed over the last two weeks that it mostly boiled down to the eyebrows and an occasional head tilt. Maybe a hand gesture if they were feeling extra dramatic, but that was it. Spock, as befit his half-human heritage, was somewhat easier to read, but it was only a matter of degree, as he seemed to have made a point of staying as Vulcan as possible.

"I believe we left off at the point where I was accused of cheating, and the assertion was made that captains cannot cheat death, and the purpose of the test was to experience fear in the face of death." Jim said, summing up where they'd left off. Some of his cool calm had vacated the premises ... but then, that damn scenario had that effect on him. Fucking thing.

"I freely admit to altering the test." Jim admitted. "But I did not do so just for laughs. I did so because the test is fundamentally flawed, and the only way anyone was going to listen was like this. I knew I'd be brought before a board of inquiry sooner or later over it." He just hadn't been anticipating that fast, or how vicious Spock had been.

Nor was Spock looking pleased now. "In what way is the test fundamentally flawed?" He demanded.

"In that everyone who gets within sniffing distance of the command classes knows that it is unwinnable." Jim said. "Hell, in that the test is scheduled with the cadet's foreknowledge. We all go in knowing it's a damn test and we can't win. That test hasn't truly tested someone's mettle since it became common knowledge."

The reaction thus far was mixed, all across the board. Some of the Admirals just looked plain pissed off. Some looked thoughtful. A few looked like they might agree with Jim. Spock was giving him another cock-eyed look he couldn't really interpret, but something told Jim it was more thoughtful than irate. Probably his close personal experience with a pissed-off Spock.

"Furthermore, I contend that contrary to the Commander's assertion, it is a Captain's responsibility to cheat death as often as possible. To keep as many of his people alive as possible no matter the situation - including himself. The scenario teaches would-be Captains that they're dead already, so why bother. Don't fight. Don't try to think outside the box, because absolutely nothing you do is going to help. That is not the sort of mind frame a captain needs to have." Jim fairly growled. "To use a rather famous example that was drug into this inquiry previously ... the Kelvin massacre."

There was an immediate rustle from the Admirals, none of whom looked best pleased to have Jim bringing that up. He knew that it was because most of them didn't want to hear their Great Hero being maligned. Well tough. George fucked up, and it was about damn time people were forced to admit it, however briefly. Yeah, he'd managed to keep the crew alive for the most part, but ... he'd sat on his ass for how long before then? And then there was Robau. Yeah, this was going to be fun. Interestingly, Jim noticed that Spock actually looked sheepish - enough so that Jim could tell that was the emotion involved. He probably had a much better understanding of how epically bad a move it had been to bring up George now that he'd lost one of his own parents.

Jim took a deep breath. "According to information gathered later, Captain Robau's immediate response was to accede to Nero's demand for him to go over and chat about how he was going to hand over his ship and crew. Now, I don't know how bad the situation was - no one really does, because the Kelvin was blown up and we only have secondhand observations of conditions rather than recordings to go on. But from what was discovered, he made no attempts to see if there was a way to stall Nero, or fight back or escape ... he just went over there. He told Acting Captain George Kirk to wait for fifteen damn minutes before getting the crew the hell out of there on the shuttles, for crying out loud. Nor is the Acting Captain in a rosy position, as from all existing reports, he did nothing until after Captain Robau was killed, and by then it was too late to do anything *but* evacuate. Had he acted sooner, there might have been something else that could have been done."

Jim waved a hand. "Nor was that an isolated incident. I can rattle off a dozen cases where the captain's first, immediate response was to essentially roll over and let the other guy beat their ass without trying to fight back - just in the last two decades." 

True fact. A lot of those incidents had been when dealing with Klingons, which Jim was betting was the source of half the problem between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. They didn't seem to think too highly of people who didn't fight like it was going out of style, and having a bunch of Starfleet captains run or surrender like cowards would not have made a good impression.

He glared at the Admirals. "I'm not saying people don't need to be tested. They do. We all need to know how to act and react when the shit hits the recirculator. But this isn't the way. Make the test tough as hell, not completely unwinnable. Spring it on people unexpectedly somehow, rather than fucking scheduling the test so they know it's coming and can brace themselves. Reward people for thinking outside the box - because I can guarantee you that as exhaustive as the Starfleet Regulations are, they can't possibly cover every possible contingency, and captains and crews are going to run into something Starfleet doesn't have rules and regs for."

Jim was surprised to see he was actually winning a few of them over. More of them were looking thoughtful now, rather than pissed. He was going to count that a win.

"And you couldn't have brought this up via normal channels?" An Admiral asked.

"Who was going to listen to a command track cadet bitch about the Kobayashi Maru scenario?" Jim pointed out. "It would immediately have been assumed that I was just whining about it, and I never would have gotten in the door." Which was also pretty true. Oh, Pike would have listened, but that would only have gotten him so far. And most cadets wouldn't have been that lucky if they'd thought to try to challenge the test's usefulness and veracity. They'd just have been told to shut up and deal.

"We will confer and inform you of our judgement in this matter by morning." One of the Admirals said. "In the meantime, you are dismissed."

Jim let out a mental sigh of relief, and turned to head out. To his surprise, Spock immediately fell into step just behind his right shoulder. They'd walked the corridors of the Enterprise like that fairly frequently in the last two weeks, but Jim hadn't expected it to continue off the ship, when their respective roles were over and done with.

He got an even bigger surprise when Spock quietly but efficiently herded him into a currently unused conference room.

"I wish to apologize." Spock said once they were in private.

Jim waved it off. "You had no way of knowing, Spock. You didn't know me from a hole in the wall then. For all you knew, I *was* messing with the test for the hell of it."

"Never the less, I should not have broached the subject in the manner that I did." Spock said.

Jim would give him that. George was and always would be a sore spot. "Fair enough - I think we're kind of even on that count." He'd already apologized for that - several times - but it was only fair to remind Spock that Jim had gone there too.

"I believe the human sentiment for this situation is to ... let bygones be bygones?" Spock sounded more like he was asking than asserting.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, that's the saying. You heading back to Uhura's?"

Spock gave him a flat look. "I must question the logic of your hacking the computer to allow her to observe ... "

"Precautionary measure." Jim said. "I didn't know how nasty the Admirals were going to get, and wasn't willing to take chances. She's the best at her job, so she was the best one to watch the interviews to make sure no one went over the line."

Spock nodded slightly, clearly agreeing with at least some of the logic in that line of thought - probably the bit about Uhura being the best one to catch anything amiss in the interviews.

"Yes, I will be returning to Lieutenant Uhura's quarters." Spock admitted finally.

Jim nodded. "I'll head over with you. They'll probably release everyone in the morning, once they're sure they don't have any further questions."

"Indeed." Spock agreed, and they left the conference room to head for Uhura's quarters.


	8. Picking Up The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brings us to the end of the movie. From here on out ... well, anything goes.

Picking Up The Pieces

(_)(_)(_)

Week 3 Post-Narada, Starfleet HQ

Jim and Spock got to Uhura's quarters to find something remarkably close to a party atmosphere in place. Scotty had somehow procured booze and food. At least, Jim assumed it was Scotty that had gotten it - Scotty seemed the type to know how to finagle booze out of replicators that didn't even have booze programmed into them.

Uhura eyed Jim for a second, then gave him a nod. Jim nodded back. Uhura'd been pretty pissed about him messing with the test - she hadn't quite understood what he was up to. He figured she got it now, after seeing the rest of the inquiry.

"So, we're hanging out for the evening then?" He asked as he walked in. 

Scotty handed him a tumbler of something as soon as he was in range. Jim shot Bones a look. Bones nodded, which meant the booze, whatever it was, wasn't made from anything with that damn compound in it. Last thing he needed was to have an allergy attack right now.

"No real choice, Jim. They're not going to release us into general population until tomorrow no matter what." Bones pointed out. "Might as well make the best of it."

That was true enough. Jim settled back, perching on the edge of Uhura's bed while he sipped his drink. Mostly, he watched the others goof around and chatter. Well, most of them. Spock seemed rather hilariously unsure of what the hell to do or say in such a gathering, and fairly quickly ended up near Jim, seemingly content with the silence in their little corner of the room.

Eventually, it got late enough that they had to break up the gathering. No one wanted to get caught hanging out here, after all, and if they stayed too late it would become entirely too possible for someone to end up falling asleep here for one reason or another.

The next morning, everyone but Jim was released back to their lives before breakfast. Jim was called back into the presence of the Admiralty right after breakfast.

"We have reviewed the facts and considered your arguments, Cadet Kirk." One of the Admirals said. "After some discussion among ourselves, it was decided that while perhaps poorly acted upon, your arguments and concerns in regards to the Kobayashi Maru scenario are valid. As such, no action will be taken in regards to discipline over your choice in expressing those objections and concerns, and no mark will be put in your records. You are therefore removed from academic suspension and once more a full cadet in the Academy."

In other words, Jim thought, they didn't dare discipline someone who had just saved Earth's ass for fear of the entire Federation rising up in protest. But he'd take it. He wasn't fool enough to think that all the Admirals would treat the incident like it had never happened. Quite a few of them would doubtlessly hold grudges and act accordingly. Jim rather looked forward to the inevitable headbutting that would result.

Jim thanked them appropriately, maintaining that 'calm, competent, confident' facade he'd faced them with the day before, then got out of there while the getting was good. He immediately called Sam, who showed up at HQ a few minutes later in a ground vehicle. No way was Jim going to risk walking anywhere for a while - especially not alone. Not with pretty much the entire planet going apeshit over the Enterprise crew in general and him in particular.

They made it to the hotel Sam and Aurelan were staying at without Jim being seen and recognized. Jim was more than slightly startled when Aurelan skipped past such mundane things as saying hello and went straight for a hug. He flailed a bit and gave Sam a wide-eyed look over Aurelan's head. A wide-eyed look that turned into a glare when all Sam did was laugh at him.

"Are you all right then, Jim?" Aurelan wanted to know when she finally turned him loose.

Jim blinked at her for a minute, then shrugged. "Fine, really." He told her.

Aurelan gave him a look that said she didn't believe him, but was going to let it go. At that point, little Peter tackled Jim's leg, diverting his attention. Jim laughed as he picked Peter up. "Well hello there, you." He said.

Peter giggled at him. "H'llo, Unka Jim."

Aurelan grinned at the two of them. "Come on and settle in. It's not much, just replicated, but I put together a meal for all of us."

Jim let her tug him further into their hotel suite.

(_)(_)(_)

Leonard had made tracks for the hotel his mother had set up at the moment he'd been released. Fortunately, it was early enough, and Leonard was non-descript enough (especially when he was trying to be) that he managed to get there without being spotted by any paparazzi or overly enthusiastic fans.

His mother and Joanna were already up by the time he got there, and just sitting down to breakfast. Joanna promptly abandoned her breakfast in favor of her daddy. Leonard was only too happy to let her, picking her up the instant she got in range.

"Good thing I made enough breakfast for three, son." His mother gave Leonard a smile. "Oh, and before you ask, we'll be here ... as long as you need us. Don't worry about Jocelyn, either." The glint in Edna McCoy's eye did not bode well for interference from that quarter. "She was quite happy to let Joanna come see you for a while."

Leonard barely restrained a bitterly amused snort. He was well aware that his mother was editing the facts for Joanna's benefit. Still, he had little doubt that his mother would go to war with Jocelyn if she pushed ... and Edna would win. Leonard came by his stubborn, ornery coot streak naturally.

The prospect of having Joanna for a while was quite a pleasant one, and one he wasn't above milking for all it was worth. Hell, he was half tempted to re-open the divorce proceedings and try to get a more equitable settlement. He'd have a hell of a lot more leverage now to manage it. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to be vicious about it, even though he was severely tempted, given how much of a bitch Jocelyn had been the first time 'round. He just wanted a more equal arrangement regarding his daughter.

Leonard forcibly pushed those thoughts aside after a minute. He had better things to do with his day, like spoiling Joanna rotten. Joanna was clearly of a mind to let him, as she didn't protest in the least when he sat at the little table in his mother's hotel suite and plunked Joanna in his lap rather than on one of the other chairs. Leonard barely restrained himself from feeding her right off the bat. He knew she was old enough to have started eating on her own and probably wouldn't much appreciate him doing that.

It didn't take long for Joanna to start babbling about all sorts of things. Half of it made no sense, mostly because Leonard hadn't been around her every day and didn't know who she was talking about when she mentioned half the names that she did. Some he either knew or could guess at, but the rest stymied him. He'd talk to his mother once Joanna went down for a nap and figure out the ones he didn't recognize then.

(_)(_)(_)  
Week 3 Post-Narada, Earth

Jim and Leonards' reunions weren't the only ones taking place. The rest of the bridge crew - not to mention the entirety of the Enterprise crew that had survived the fight with the Narada - were enjoying time with their families. Most of them were tucked away in hotels either very near or on Starfleet Academy property. There was a lot of hugging, crying, and even yelling over the days the command crew was sequestered, and beyond.

One of the biggest questions that everyone was asking themselves was "Do I want to stay in Starfleet?"

It was a question that everyone who'd ever put the uniform on asked themselves at one point or another - sometimes more than once. The shit would hit the fan particularly hard, or there would be a particularly personal loss or incident that made a person ask the question. Normally, it didn't happen before the person in question even graduated. Mostly because only the best and brightest were even accepted into the Academy, which meant they didn't usually question themselves and their desire to join over the class load and tests.

Almost unanimously, the answer to that question was 'Yes'. Only a handful of the Enterprise survivors decided to opt out. Even then, those that opted out did not do so because Starfleet was too much for them. They opted out due to having lost family during the conflict, either from the other seven ships or the Enterprise herself, and the survivors were now needed back home long-term for various reasons.

What would give the Admiralty conniptions was the *reason* most of them were willing to stay. Because it would seem that a certain Acting Captain and his CO had made a hell of an impression. Both on the cadets and on the small handful of senior officers that had been aboard the Enterprise and survived.

Kirk had come across as bugfuck crazy - but in the best of ways. The sort of way that was determined to win out and save the day. The sort that came up with insane-seeming plans out of nowhere that actually worked because no one in their right mind thought to protect against such nutball plans of attack. Spock had gotten dragged into that approbation mostly due to the fact that he'd followed Kirk's lead once Kirk had taken over. No one was dumb enough to think that Spock would have gone along with what Kirk was planning, even 'compromised', if he thought it was a bad idea. The fact Spock had driven the Jellyfish down the Narada's throat hadn't hurt, either.

Because of this, there was ... a bit of a chat going on amongst the rank and file that had survived the adventure. Virtually all of them wanted back under Kirk's command. The older officers among them recognized that the odds of Kirk being shuffled to a bottom-of-the-heap position were nil. Kirk was entirely too high-profile for Starfleet to successfully bury him. And with so much of the graduating class decimated, the Admiralty really wasn't going to have much choice but to allow Kirk to ascend to Captaincy. Anything less would have the entire Federation on the Admiralty's case.

Given a choice between an assignment with one of the older, more experienced captain that had been in the Laurentian system, or an assignment on the Enterprise with Kirk, even Cupcake had opted for the latter. Because Kirk and Spock might be completely insane, but the odds of staying alive under their command were a lot better than elsewhere. Better, service on the Enterprise was NEVER going to be dull.

The Admiralty didn't know it yet, but they were going to be steamrollered into keeping the Enterprise's surviving crew together whether they liked it or not. Between popular opinion and the combined efforts of the Enterprise's remaining crew, they weren't going to stand a chance.

(_)(_)(_)

Once on Earth, the Vulcan Elders had sequestered themselves in order to fully prepare themselves for holding the extra katras they'd saved long-term. That preparation was very necessary - without it, it was quite possible for one or more of the extra katras to 'attach' itself to its host. This generally led to something that imitated the Earth ailment of schizophrenia or in extreme cases multiple personality disorder, and could, if not caught and dealt with, drive the host to insanity or death. This risk was part of the reason why only Elders were allowed to interact with the katras in any way. To become an Elder, a Vulcan had to prove they had the mental fortitude to deal with holding extra katras at all - and the ability to excel at the training that allowed for retaining extra katras long-term.

If there had been a way to prove it without revealing his true identity, Spock, who now went by the name Selik, would have offered to relieve one of the Elders of their burden while they prepared themselves for the long haul. While he had never formally gone through the process, Selik was qualified to be an Elder. This was entirely thanks to the retraining he'd gone through in the wake of his temporary death at the hands of Khan all those years ago. The priestesses and Elders had not wanted there to be any question as to his mental fitness, so they'd subjected him to the sort of training a potential Elder had to go through. He'd been far too young then to actually BE an elder, and by the time he had qualified in age, he'd been more or less disowned by the entire planet due to his interest in Reunification and his insistence on trying to deal with the Rihannsu. They'd not have certified him as an Elder if they'd been paid to.

And as if all of this wasn't enough activity so soon after things had blown up ... well, the wheels were turning over at Q'onoS.

(_)(_)(_)

Week 3 post-Narada, Q'onoS

It had taken two full weeks of some rather heated and frequently violent arguing, but Maktor was well pleased with the results. He had not, in the end, had to lead the other councilors to come to the conclusion he'd arrived at the day the Empire's armada had been destroyed. They had realized on their own that the Empire had no choice but to ally themselves with the Federation if they were going to survive.

Amusingly enough, the other Councilors finally reached that conclusion without his interference. They had also decided, again without his interference, that they would only accept one person, and preferably one ship, as the Federation's emissary.

In other words, it was Kirk, and hopefully the Enterprise, or no one. Of course, deciding this among themselves was one thing. Getting what they wanted was something else entirely, and would involve a lot of wrangling. It also remained to be seen if Kirk could actually bridge the gap between Kligons and humans. He at least seemed to have a better chance than most, which was something. Maktor just hoped they could pull this off, or the Empire was doomed. Their enemies would waste little to no time taking advantage of the state of affairs the Empire found itself in.

Fortunately, they had discovered that they had something of worth to offer the Federation. While the Empire was relatively resource-poor in many areas, they had one resource in plenty that the Federation would be hungry for. Dilithium. The Empire had several mining concerns in its sphere of influence that were rich in dilithium - more than even the Empire could use in hundreds of years with a full armada at its command. Better, Maktor knew that the Federation had been eyeing those mining concerns off and on, either to trade or conquer and take for their own. Offering the Federation a percentage of the proceeds of those mines ought to make them more amenable to an alliance.

It took Maktor several hours - and several attempts - to work out what he was going to say when he contacted the Federation. It was a delicate balance. Too much one way, and the Federation would see them as crawling to the Federation for help, which would incline them to set a steep price for the 'alliance'. Too much the other way, and the Federation would just laugh at them and ignore them until the Empire was weakened to the point of no return and had no choice but to accept whatever terms the Federation dictated when they swept in to salvage the remains. Only if they hit the middle ground would they manage to set livable terms for the alliance

Finally satisfied that the communique was firm and assertive without going overboard, Maktor actually recorded it and sent it off. Now all he had to do was wait ... and hope.

(_)(_)(_)

Week 4 post-Narada, Starfleet Academy

Finally, inevitably, the Enterprise survivors were recalled from their brief vacations with family and loved ones.

Returning to the Academy was unexpectedly painful. Oh, they'd all known that seven ships worth of their classmates had been slaughtered ... but it was one thing to know that, to know the numbers ... and something else entirely to experience it.

The dorms and classrooms the crew were returning to were now empty wastelands. Two dorm buildings were completely empty, and multiple floors of others were either empty or had only one or two tenants remaining. The classes ... the classes were even worse. Where there had been as many as several hundred in some of the classes (like the Ethics classes) ... now, there was a paltry handful or so. The command classes were especially bad. Those classes, always fairly small to begin with, had been reduced to Kirk, Sulu and Uhura (who weren't taking command track as their primary track), Bones (who as potential CMO would be in the command structure), and a single other command track cadet who hadn't been on the ships due to being ill.

Things could have ended up being horrible and intolerable if it hadn't been for Uhura.

Despite her frequent exasperation with Gaila's never-ending stream of sex-friends (Gaila's term for them), Uhura had been fairly close to Gaila.

Gaila had been one of a small number of female Orion refugees that had escaped the slave culture of Orion. Because they had been ... very honest ... with the Federation and the Admiralty when they had left, Gaila and her fellow refugees had death sentences on their heads if they ever returned to Orion space. The Orion matriarchy hadn't taken it well that they and their manipulations had been exposed.

Gaila had been very, very careful of her 'allure', hence the never-ending stream of men. She'd never been with any one male more than once, due to the dangers inherent in continued sexual contact with an Orion female.

Uhura had been one of a very, very few human women who had befriended the Orion women. It wasn't that she had been immune to the negative effects the 'allure' had on other females, it was just that Uhura had been willing to tough it out, and had eventually developed a tolerance for it. It had also helped that the guy Uhura was dating was immune to the 'allure'. Though Uhura had tended to think that other women were petty and stupid to get all twisted up over 'their' guy noticing an Orion female. It wasn't like they could *help* it, after all - neither the men nor the Orions.

At any rate ... Uhura had eventually returned to the quarters she had shared with Gaila. Because Gaila was a refugee and had no one to claim her things, her things had not yet been boxed up by the time Uhura returned to their quarters. The folks in charge of that sad duty hadn't quite figured out what to do with it yet in the rush of clearing out so many quarters.

So Uhura walked into quarters that were exactly as she and Gaila had left them. Only ... Gaila wasn't coming back. The reality of it hit Uhura like a ton of bricks. Gaila was *gone*. And so were ... so very many of her friends and co-workers.

Uhura ended up curled up on her bed, bawling into one of Gaila's off-duty shirts. By the time that first, crippling bout of grief had run its course, she had cried herself to sleep. The next morning was no better. She spent most of it bursting into tears at odd moments and feeling horribly alone.

She never had been one to sit by and do nothing about terrible situations. Initially, her interest in doing something had been a desperate attempt to ease the grief in busy-work ... but after about an hour she'd realized that pretty much everyone else would be in like situation. That was enough to kick her into overdrive.

It didn't take much to figure out that the survivors would fit into the two now-empty dorms if they all gathered together. Uhura knew enough about the grieving process to know that such solidarity would come as a comfort to many - and provide those that needed it with the support of their fellow survivors. She sent out a query to see who else might be interested in moving.

The speed with which many of the survivors answered her made it clear she wasn't the only one not wanting to stay in a room suddenly half-empty for the worst of reasons. Within 48 hours of her sending the query, people had begun to move into the empty dorms, whether the Academy liked it or not.

Fortunately, the teachers were ... sensitive ... to the senior class' changed circumstances. Every class that could possibly move to a smaller classroom did so, to de-emphasize the echoing emptiness of lecture halls meant for hundreds and normally filled to capacity suddenly holding less than fifty. Where several classes of the same subject were held due to now non-existent class size issues, only one was held, and everyone transferred to that one class. All of the command classes were absorbed into the fast-track classes for the juniors, since the material the two classes would be going over was virtually identical.

Better, while counseling wasn't mandated - the campus was awash with grief counselors there to help the survivors. Betazed alone had sent four ships full of counselors to Earth to help both the Vulcan and Starfleet survivors. They weren't the only ones. Already, volunteers were lining up to lend whatever aid they could, in whatever capacity it was needed. Relief supplies by the tonne were already being shipped or stored somewhere until they would be of use.

(_)(_)(_)

Week 5 -8, Starfleet HQ

Multiple planets in the Federation began to offer the breeding services of a number of Vulcan flora and fauna that had been sent to their world. Though the Vulcans had not done so out of fear of this sort of catastrophe, they had seen to it that virtually every creature and plant from their world had viable seed or breeding populations off-world. Once a suitable world was located, it would be possible to resurrect much of Vulcan's ecology.

It was at the heart of this effort that Selik found a place for himself. Every hand was needed ... and someone who was an old hand at diplomacy more so than most, as many Vulcans were ... out of sorts to put it gently. Many of them found interacting with outsiders impossible due to the empathic feedback even the lightest and slightest of incidental touches subjected raw, torn minds to. The handful of surviving Gol Masters and Kolinahr Adepts found themselves very busy. Their total lack of emotion allowed them to tend to the worst-affected of the survivors - the ones who found even the presence of their fellow Vulcans an intolerable burden on their shredded minds. They also were the ones most able to tolerate being around non-Vulcans in the wake of the disaster.

Selik, who had spent virtually his entire life either among humans or the equally emotional Rihannsu ... not to mention a very long time as bondmate to one of the more mercurial humans he'd ever met, was better able than the average Vulcan to deal with the empathic feedback from incidental touch. His long years as a diplomat helped him smooth ruffled feathers on both sides of the equation - not that there were all that many on the non-Vulcan side. Everyone was well aware that the surviving Vulcans were going to be in bad shape, supposed non-emotionalism and reliance on logic be damned. No one could lose nine tenths of their species' population in a heartbeat and NOT be affected. This knowledge allowed the more emotional races to not take true offense at the behavior displayed by various Vulcans.

Too, thanks to his long service in Starfleet, Selik had a good idea of what they would need to build a viable colony somewhere, and was able to requisition those supplies with a minimum of fuss and bother. When discussions began regarding a potential colony world, Selik offered up information on a few possible worlds that his Enterprise had encountered in their travels that the Elders might not know of yet, given those travels had *begun* nearly a decade from now. Fortunately, with the chaos caused by Vulcan's destruction, he was able to claim a past for himself that wouldn't be subject to much scutiny. The chances of anyone Vulcan or otherwise bothering to track down records to ensure that a Vulcan wasn't lying about their credentials were non-existent. After all, Vulcans were incapable of lying. It wasn't Selik's fault that everyone forgot (or in this case didn't know in the first place) that he was half-human and therefore not necessarily subject to that particular rule. Nor was it his fault that everyone *believed* that particular bit of nonsense. Vulcans could and did lie, if logic dictated that to do so was best. They just didn't do it very often.

Nor were the Vulcans and their needs all that the Admiralty was dealing with. There had been numerous, heated arguments over the disposition of the Enterprise survivors. Some Admirals advocated breaking the survivors up among the fleet and crewing the Enterprise with a seasoned, older crew and none of the survivors. Others advocated for the survivors to remain together, but under a seasoned captain with Kirk as second in command. Still others advocated for the survivors to remain together with everyone in the positions they'd held during the conflict.

For multiple reasons, the first group had the fewest adherents. Almost all of whom were advocating that solution because they despised Kirk and didn't want him anywhere near a command chair ever again in his lifetime. Most of those arguing for the second solution were doing so on the assumption that what Kirk had managed to pull off was a once-off and that without proper seasoning, he'd falter as a captain. Starfleet could ill afford to lose another ship and its crew at this juncture, so they were trying to play it safe.

Unfortunately for those two groups, they just weren't going to get their way. The Federation at large was not going to settle for less than the best for their darlings, regardless of those darlings' ability to perform long-term. Still, if it had just been the general public, the Admiralty might have shipped Kirk to a bottom-level position somewhere anyway.

But it wasn't just the Federation public that was on their case about Kirk. It was the Klingons.

The Admiralty had been shocked to receive a communique from High Chancellor of the Empire indicating a desire for peace and alliance. Most of them understood why the offer was being made, of course, but they hadn't expected it to be made. Most of them had expected the Empire to go down in flames, still fighting even though it was a lost cause.

That Maktor was demanding Kirk as emissary if there was to be any chance at peace with the Empire complicated things. Peace with the contentious Klingons was not to be sneered at, especially now. Fewer enemies and more allies would be a damn good thing while Starfleet was recovering from its losses. And the Admiralty was well aware of the fact that Klingons made for formidable fighters, something which the weakened Starfleet might end up needing in the coming days. It would stretch their shrunken fleet to the limit, but it would end up being worth it if Kirk could pull it off.

And those of the Admiralty that hated Kirk figured that the brat would fuck it up and the Klingons would solve their problem for them. Either way, it was a winning scenario. At best, capable warriors and easy access to as much dilithium as they needed. At worst, the Empire would collapse under its own weight and the fury of its enemies and they would relieve the Admirals of a thorn in their side in the process.

In the end, there was surprisingly little opposition to the plan that got worked out.

(_)(_)(_)

Three months post-Narada, Starfleet Academy (after the award ceremony)

Encountering his older, alternate self had been ... somewhat disconcerting ... for Spock in a number of ways. It had given him much to think about.

He was willing to admit that his desire to help his people had little to do with an actual desire to help and more to do with feeling duty-bound to do so. After all, he had found no shelter on that world, among those people, save his own father and a bare handful of others in House Surak. He had been extremely reluctant to walk away from Starfleet.

From Jim.

Jim had persisted in pursuing a congenial relationship with Spock. He wouldn't quite go so far as Jim trying to foster a friendship, but it was a close call. Of course, once he had received word that he would, in fact, remain captain of the Enterprise once the ship had been fully repaired, Jim had taken up a campaign to get Spock as his First Officer. Why Jim wanted him in that position, Spock couldn't begin to comprehend. True, after the emergency was over they'd proven to be more compatible than their first encounters would otherwise have indicated, but that was hardly insurance of long-term viability as a command team.

Spock had been surprised but pleased to discover the crew was being kept intact, with the addition of a few personnel to replace those that had been killed during the conflict.

Truly, the only additional distressing news of the last two months was the fact that his relationship with Nyota had ... cooled. They were not at odds with one another, but they were not as close as they had been prior to the conflict. Spock had been absorbed in dealing with his own trauma and trying to help his surviving people, and Nyota had been dealing with her grief, mostly by throwing herself into ... well, practically anything that would distract her. As a result, they'd spent little time with one another. 

Worse, what time they had spent together, Spock had avoided physical contact. While he'd meditated at length and worked with the available counselors, his mind was still raw and hurting, and his ability to deflect and/or ignore empathic bleed-off was limited. Combined with the depth and rawness of Nyota's grief, it was a recipe for disaster. Nyota had understood why he was avoiding physical contact and was sympathetic, but it had not helped matters where their relationship was involved. Spock was aware that humans required emotional support, and that physical contact was frequently a part of that. That he could not supply Nyota with that support was hurting them both. Yet Spock could not yet bring himself to give in to the inevitable and break things off with her. It would be another raw wound at a time when he could ill afford one.

Spock had somewhat distracted himself from that by taunting Jim. Jim tried everything short of literal bribery and blackmail to get Spock to be his First Officer. Spock had, at first, denied him because he had intended to go to the colony with the remnants of his people. Once he had changed his mind thanks to his alternate self's intervention, he had continued to deny Jim just to drive the man up a wall and provide himself with something distracting to do.

(_)(_)(_)

After the graduation and award ceremony, the Enterprise survivors had a month to themselves. This was traditionally the time when the newly graduated cadets said their goodbyes to family and friends, made whatever arrangements needed to be made, and otherwise had their last hurrah.

It was also the first time the survivors had been off the heavily-policed Academy campus. The security teams had been extremely thorough and rather vicious about ousting the paparazzi from the Academy grounds in an effort to allow the survivors some breathing room. Unfortunately, off the grounds, they were immediately swarmed.

In the end, it took less than a week for Jim to call Uhura and confirm that the offer of staying at her parents' place was still on the table for the command crew, who were being hounded worse than the rest. She'd been happy to confirm it. Within hours, the eight of them (Keenser had joined them at that juncture) made their way to the Uhura family compound in Africa. They stayed there until they were recalled to begin their careers in Starfleet.

Jim was called in first, to confirm his command crew assignments and to receive his first orders. He stared at the datapad in disbelief.

"The Klingons want to ... and they're asking for me?" He sputtered.

"Yes. The standard packet has been downloaded to your padd." One of the Admirals said.

Jim just barely managed to not scoff. If the Admiral meant the standard ambassadorial packet, Jim was going to ignore it in its entirety. Mostly because previous ambassadors had followed that packet to the letter ... and see where it had got them where the Klingons were concerned.

They let him go then, without even a token bitching out about him not having a First Officer yet. Which really should have been a big, honking clue something was up. Jim planned on claiming he was sidetracked by thinking about their first assignment if anyone ever asked.

He'd been thoroughly thrilled when Spock strolled onto the bridge. It had felt like a missing puzzle piece was slotting into place. He hadn't even bothered to keep the grin off his face as they got under way.


	9. Diplomacy Kirk Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the information and assumptions about Klingons made in this chapter may be in error. This is deliberate. At this point in time, Starfleet wouldn't have a detailed encyclopedia of Klingon culture.

Diplomacy Kirk Style

(_)(_)(_)

The first thing Jim did once they were fully underway and could afford to look away from the controls for a bit was call a meeting. Not that everyone else realized it at first.

"Bones, would you come up to the bridge?" Jim asked after hitting the comm button.

"Be right there."

Jim repeated the call to Engineering. Scotty was a bit more reluctant to leave his engines, but agreed to come up. They both arrived a minute or two later. 

"What's up?" Bones asked.

Jim had to bite back a grin because he could all but hear the 'kid' at the end of that sentence that Bones was choking on. It was probably going to take Bones a while to get used to that. Not that Jim planned on calling him on it much. Yeah, such a diminutive was definitely NOT approved of in the rules and regs for a CMO talking to his captain, but what the hell did Jim care about that kind of thing?

"Sulu, Chekov, if you two could put her on auto for a bit." Jim said. "We all need to talk real fast. And rather than take time out of our day after shift to go hole up in a meeting room, I figured we'd do this here." Jim actually got to his feet and moved to stand between Sulu and Chekov so he could see everyone without having to turn around or crane his neck.

Bones looked amused at Jim's informality, and parked himself at one edge of Spock's station, roughly between him and Uhura. Uhura, Sulu and Chekov all turned away from their stations while Scotty parked himself by the turbolift.

Spock, when he turned away from the science station to face Jim, had one eyebrow hiked, not that Jim hadn't been expecting that. "Hey, we set a precedent when we figured out how to deal with the Narada. Why mess with what works?" Jim said to that look.

"Aye, it worked well enough to deal with that hell ship." Scotty agreed.

Chekov nodded. Sulu looked like he agreed too, but was refraining from taking obvious sides by speaking out. The only ones who looked less than thrilled with the idea were the three hanging out at the back of the bridge, which amused Jim to no end.

Spock cocked his head to the side for a moment, then the eyebrow lowered and he nodded. "This method is most unorthodox but it does possess a certain logic and efficiency." He finally admitted.

Bones and Uhura didn't say anything, but they did seem willing to let Jim roll without throwing a fuss despite apparently not fully approving of the whole 'conference on the bridge' idea.

"Right." Jim said. "For those of you not in the gossip loop, our first mission is to go talk to the Klingons about a full alliance. We'll be meeting one of their ships at the Neutral Zone, and be escorted from there to Q'onoS to talk to their Council."

There was a marked lack of reaction to the news, evidence that everyone had heard about their assignment and already gotten any reactions out of their systems before today. Jim almost regretted it, because he would have liked to know just who of his crew might object to having to hang about with Klingons. Jim was nowhere near dumb enough to think that everyone on both sides would be thrilled with this. 

"Why us?" Chekov asked.

Jim glanced down at him. "The Admiralty didn't say, but if I had to guess ... our winning against the Narada was the deciding factor. The Klingons do have a warrior culture and would probably approve of someone blowing the hell out of a ship like that. That said, it's only a guess. Ours not to wonder why, and all that." Jim said. "We've got roughly two days ... "

"Forty hours and nine minutes, Captain." Spock offered.

Jim snorted, but then grinned and nodded. "So yeah, about forty hours ... to get to the meeting point. Needless to say, it wouldn't actually take us that long to get there if we went at top speed." Jim said. "I intend, however, for us to take as much of that forty hours to get there as we can. In the meantime, I want all of you to be reading up on everything Starfleet's given us on who we're going to be meeting, and what they've got on Klingons in general. Get familiar with what we know of how they work."

Jim shook his head. "We're not going to be following the 'how to make friends' handbook on this one. That's been tried, and failed miserably." He glanced across the bridge to Uhura. "Uhura, when we meet with them, I want you right beside me. You're fluent in their language and the best there is at understanding more than just the words that come out of peoples' mouths. We're going to need that."

Uhura gave a sharp, pleased nod. "I'll be ready." She promised.

"You'll get more detail from the computers but the one thing you're going to need to know, understand, and be able to deal with is that Klingons are aggressive. They're going to push you and challenge you and get in your face. Don't back down. Argue back, and if they hit you physically, hit back. Sulu, I really hope you brought that sword of yours. Carry it with you." Jim said.

Sulu gave Jim a toothy grin. "After it helped save our asses? You better bet I brought it." He said.

Bones looked predictably sour about the incipient workload he'd have, patching everyone back together after they tangled with whichever Klingon was trying to be a pushy asshole this time. Jim gave him a look that said 'sorry' ... even if he wasn't, really. Bones clearly knew it too, because Bones gave him an irritated look in return. Jim gave an amused mental snort before he returned to what he'd been saying.

"The rest of you ... if you know how to use a weapon other than a phaser and are comfortable doing so, carry it. I can guarantee the Klingons will be armed to the teeth." Jim said. "I'm half tempted to have everyone carry phasers as well, to be honest."

Spock looked like he wanted to argue. Jim honestly didn't blame him. It went against ALL the rules to bring weapons into any sort of peace talk. Jim was kind of surprised when Spock didn't speak up. Evidently, Spock was willing to go with the whole 'we tried doing it by the rules and failed. Maybe doing something different will succeed' method. At least for the moment. Jim didn't doubt there'd be arguing at some point.

It was Uhura that spoke up, her head tilted in a manner eerily reminiscent of Spock as she considered something. "I'm honestly not sure how the Klingons would perceive us carrying phasers." She admitted.

"Which is why I said I was half considering it. I'm not entirely sure either." Jim admitted. "It's been a little while since I read any of the stuff on them." He thought he remembered something regarding their opinions on energy weapons, but he couldn't remember what that opinion had been.

"Furthermore, so long as your actual duties don't get shorted, you have my permission to read the relevant material on the bridge, since I know for a fact that you'll all have time to kill during the shift." Jim said.

After all, while just going from point A to point B, there wasn't all that much to keep everyone busy their entire shift unless all hell broke loose. Uhura and Spock would really be the only ones who either wouldn't have time to spare, or would refuse to divert their attention from their duties on principle. And if anyone had any doubts as to which was which, the nearly scandalized look he got from Spock made it rather clear. Jim had to work to keep from being amused at the double-eyebrow and slight frown that announcement got him from Spock. It was basically the equivalent of shrieking 'what are you thinking?'.

This was, obviously, yet another departure from accepted, established Starfleet procedures and regulations. But Jim figured it was better for the crew to read up on whatever information was germane to the next mission when there was a lull between tasks than have them get really bored and zone out or worse, fall asleep. Not that it happened all that often, but there were stories, and Jim would rather prevent such a problem from happening. Especially when he was dealing with a bridge full of geniuses who were liable to get bored pretty fast without something to do other than stare at a wall for half a shift.

Besides, Jim kind of wanted to see just how many Admirals he could lay flat just by doing stuff like this. They were so very proud of their rules and regs, after all. Jim had to admit that they were, overall, pretty damn good, but there were gaps, and dumb shit mixed in that needed fixing. Stuff that was either actively being ignored, or just overlooked for one reason or another.

He hadn't joined Starfleet to be a model officer, after all. He'd joined to kick them in their collective teeth and make them cry for their mommies. He hadn't expected to get thrown into a position where he could actually do that so early in his career, but he was jumping on it with both feet and an unholy amount of glee.

Evidently, Spock had either processed Jim's decrees and decided they were somehow logical, or had decided to remonstrate with Jim in private, because when he spoke up, it was not a criticism of Jim's plan.

"I would offer my services for the negotiations as well." Spock said. "My father has been an ambassador for many years, and I have had multiple opportunities to observe him in his work. While it is by no means a comprehensive knowledge of the subject, logic dictates that any information is better than none at all."

Jim didn't hesitate to nod agreement. While he hadn't known who Spock's father was until after Vulcan was gone, Ambassador Sarek was very, very well known in the Federation, and credited with pulling together a staggering number of treaties of various types. If Spock knew even a tenth of what his father did, he'd be an invaluable resource.

"Much appreciated, Spock, and I'll definitely be taking you up on that." Jim said. 

He also fully intended to get Spock to teach him how to handle someone stronger and more durable than a human could be. There wouldn't be time before they reached Q'onoS, but Jim was fairly sure he could handle a Klingon. They were stronger and more durable, but not as markedly so as a Vulcan or Romulan, which would help. And Jim had absolutely no doubts whatever that he'd be punching *someone* before this was all over. It was just the way Klingons worked. 

"While it's not in the plans for any of the Klingons to board the Enterprise, that could change." Jim said. "And if it does, they will be accorded access to all public areas the same as any other passengers. Tours would be limited to those same areas. While they're willing to sue for peace, I'm not ready to show them everything we've got until they sign on the dotted line, just in case. Also ... I sincerely doubt that all Klingons are thrilled with this whole thing. Watch your backs, people. I'd prefer it if no one went anywhere alone with a Klingon, so stay with at least one other crewman, or make sure someone knows where you're going and when you'll be back. And unless anyone has anything else to add, that's all we need to go over." Jim thought for a moment. "And that's all I've got. Any comments or questions?" He asked.

There were a bunch of headshakes and a few verbal denials. "All right then. Meeting adjourned." Jim said.

Scotty and Bones immediately left, heading back to their preferred territories. Jim flopped down in the captain's chair and brought up the files he'd mentioned to the others himself, wanting to get them read through at least once before they arrived. Preferably more than once, but he wasn't going to count on it.

The rest of the shift went quietly, with everyone focused either on their instruments or on their padds reading the information available on Klingons. None of them had gotten very far through the material before shift was over.

Spock followed Jim off the bridge, and towards Jim's quarters. Jim didn't assume that Spock was following him in order to talk to him until Spock turned in the direction of Jim's quarters. Spock's quarters were on the same deck, but in the opposite direction. Jim didn't say anything, he just let Spock tag along until they got to Jim's quarters. Once they were inside, Jim cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What's up?"

Spock's eyebrow crept up just a tiny bit. "It seemed logical to peruse the information together." He said. "So that any questions you might have on how best to proceed can be addressed immediately."

Jim blinked, having half-expected getting scolded for his departures from the rules and regs, then nodded. "Yeah, that does make sense." He agreed.

Fortunately, the Captain's quarters were larger and better appointed than any other quarters save those of the First Officer. Jim actually had a small, if functional, office area in his quarters and room enough to entertain a few guests. Jim motioned Spock to the couch that was against one wall.

"Take a seat. Would you like anything to eat or drink? We're going to be here a while."

"Not at the moment." Spock said.

Jim nodded, then headed to the replicator and dialed himself up a couple pieces of fruit and a glass of water. He set them down on the small table at the other end of the couch, grabbed a padd, and sat down.

"I find myself curious as to your thought process regarding the changes to routine you have instituted." Spock said.

What surprised Jim was that Spock's tone was completely free of sarcasm and/or judgment - he sounded just plain curious.

"Couple of things." Jim admitted. "I'm sure you've heard the stories about people falling asleep at the controls?

"Quite." Spock agreed, sounding rather censorious.

"And those were almost all seasoned crewmen who knew better." Jim waved a hand in the general direction of the bridge. "We've got a bunch of really young, really bright, barely trained kids. Giving them something to do other than stare at a wall between necessary instrument adjustments when we're just flying through space seemed like a good idea."

Spock considered that for a moment before nodding agreement. "Most logical." He finally agreed.

"As for the stuff regarding how we're going to handle meeting with the Klingons ... " Jim shrugged. "The 'standard' ambassadorial approach has been tried, and mostly failed. That tells me that trying it again will end in a similar result. So it's time to try a different approach."

Spock nodded. "That, I have seen my father do, as he is frequently called upon when other attempts fail." 

Spock wasn't going to tell Jim - at least not yet - that Spock had always strongly believed that Sarek had been called upon in the hope that he would fail and stain the House of Sarek's reputation still further. Or better yet be injured or killed. That his father had managed in each case to wring some sort of agreement from the involved parties without anyone getting killed had always been a point of pride for Spock.

They'd been quiet for all of about five minutes when Jim's comm pinged. He rolled his eyes expressively, but got up and hit the button. "Yes?"

"Captain, Uhura here. I was wondering if it would be possible for you, Spock and myself to meet and go through the material together?"

Jim huffed a laugh. "Spock beat you to the idea. We're in my quarters. Come on over." He said.

"On my way." Uhura said.

Jim watched as Spock rose to get something, and then resettled himself on one of the two chairs in the room. Mentally, he sighed and frowned. Spock had been avoiding all physical contact with everyone with the sort of paranoid zeal a hypochondriac used to claim an illness. Jim understood why, at least academically. Being a touch telepath had to be difficult even under ideal conditions, but the conditions the surviving Vulcans were dealing with just made it a billion times worse. Still, Jim worried.

It helped that worrying about Spock - and everyone else on the ship in general - allowed him to ignore his own feelings about what had happened. Jim had resolutely avoided the counselors that had been brought in to help everyone deal with events, the same as he'd avoided the counselors after Tarsus. He didn't believe that airing dirty laundry did a person a damn bit of good, in the end analysis. You either managed to deal with your shit or you didn't. Talking to some moron who spouted useless jargon at you wasn't going to help.

Uhura arrived with her padd and settled on the couch where Spock had originally been sitting. The three of them got to reading at that point. Several hours later, after having read through the bulk of what Starfleet had to offer on Klingons, the three of them started talking.

"You were definitely right about going in armed." Uhura said. "Their idea of diplomacy ... " She made an amused noise. "Well, let's just say it's a lot more honest than the metaphorical throat cutting in Earth politics."

"No kidding." Jim said, equally amused.

From what they had available, Klingons, while they did do the subterfuge thing in politics, tended to settle disagreements violently. Duels and assassinations seemed to be an everyday part of the political process alongside the more normal stuff.

"That said ... no phasers." Uhura said, tapping her padd, which was open to a file concerning the Klingon High Council. "Knives, daggers, and even those big bat'leths of theirs yes. Energy weapons, no."

Jim thought that was a bit odd, but well, that's how the Klingons rolled, so he was going to go with it. "Right. And if what I've seen so far is right, we basically go in there acting like we're the biggest badasses in the room if we want to get anywhere. They won't respect us otherwise."

Uhura nodded. "Though that's going to be a fine line to walk. Too much one way, and we'll come off as overly cocky idiots. Too much the other way, and we'll look weak." She tapped a nail on the edge of her padd. "I'll try to teach you the proper greeting. If you can manage it, it'll help, and I think you can. You do have a fair ear for languages."

Jim grinned a little at the praise. He was nowhere near Uhura's league of course, but he'd learned at least a few words and phrases - other than curses - in several languages thanks to Uhura's taunting of him over the last three years.

"I am most worried about any meals we'll take with them." Uhura admitted. "It's going to be tricky. They seem to prefer their meals meat heavy, and either raw, the next best thing to it, or worse still alive." She shuddered.

Jim had eaten worse on Tarsus, so that part of things wasn't going to bother him. "I won't require anyone to eat their stuff as is." He said. "But I plan to."

Uhura gave him a wide-eyed look. "I hope you have a cast-iron stomach then."

Jim waved a hand. "I can handle it."

That got him a narrow-eyed look from Uhura. Jim had known for a while that Uhura had her suspicions regarding him and his life - she couldn't *not*, as good as she was reading body language and what wasn't said as well as what was. However, she let it be, as she always did.

Besides, Jim had more than one reason to eat Klingon style. One, it would make an impression. Secondly, Spock was a vegetarian, and Jim's willingness to eat Klingon cuisine as-is would hopefully offset that. Honestly, bringing Spock was a gamble. On the one hand, Klingons really weren't very fond of Vulcans. The whole logic over emotion and pacifism really didn't go over well with a passionate, warrior culture. On the other hand, Jim knew damn good and well that Spock was a huge exception to a lot of Vulcan rules, and that might tip things in their favor.

They talked over a few more things before they broke the party up and Spock and Uhura left.

The next day during shift, they ended up having more than a bit of fun. Uhura had decided that everyone needed to at least try the most basic Klingon greeting, and worked with all of them while she kept an ear on her comm channels. By the end of shift, Jim and Sulu both could parrot it back to her, if not perfectly, then close enough to be acceptable. Chekov had more than a few problems with it - or pretended to, anyway. Jim wasn't entirely sure if the kid's pronunciation problems were legitimate or not. That thick-as-hell accent was more than slightly suspicious.

Bones showed up in Jim's quarters at the end of the shift.

"Got a list of stuff you're not to eat." Bones told him, handing over a padd. "Not much on it that isn't a no-go for anyone human. They don't go in much for stuff that'd have that compound in it."

"Yeah, I noticed. Thank goodness." Jim said. It reduced the amount of trouble there could have been if Jim had been forced to not eat anything offered.

"I noticed, after doing inventory, that I have a lot more stuff than I asked for." Bones said.

Jim snorted a laugh. "Bones, we're going to be dealing with Klingons. Better safe than sorry." Not to mention that Jim worried that the Narada mission was a harbinger of things to come. The last thing they needed was to run out of necessary medical supplies because everyone was getting beat all to hell all the time. So he'd doubled Bones' orders.

Bones made a grumpy noise, looking sour at the prospect of having to patch people up so much. "Dammit, Jim, I swear I'll let that green blooded hobgoblin finish the job he started if you deliberately antagonize someone for shits and giggles."

Jim laughed. "Yeah, yeah. Pull the other one, Bones. It has bells on." He knew that the worst Bones would do (which was, honestly, bad enough) would be to stealth-hypo him more than usual. Bones did not approve of violence in any form, and wouldn't actively let anyone beat up on anyone else if he could do something to stop it.

"I looked up what I could about Klingon medical practices." Bones made a thoroughly disgusted noise. "Which seems to amount to patching up wounds and not much else. They don't seem to have anything like what we've got in medical knowledge."

Which was Bones' way of warning Jim. If Klingons disdained medical intervention past a certain point, they'd be liable to see anyone seeking such intervention past that point as undesirable at best and cowardly at worst. Jim was quietly relieved that Pike wouldn't be around for the meetings. He had a feeling that a guy rolling around in a wheelchair would definitely cross the line. And Pike would be stuck in the chair for several more months before the damage to his spine was sufficiently healed.

"This is going to be so much fun." Jim said with a toothy grin. It earned him another sour glare from Bones.

(_)(_)(_)

Jim ensured the alpha bridge crew was on the bridge when they approached the rendezvous coordinates just on their side of the neutral zone. He also ensured that everyone who wanted to be was armed. Sulu had his fold-away sword strapped to his back. Uhura had switched to wearing the pants version of the uniform and had a dagger strapped to one thigh. Chekov didn't *look* armed, but something told Jim he had some sort of knife or something on him despite that. It was the way Chekov was sitting, and the little smirk he was wearing. Spock didn't look armed either, but then again, he didn't really need to be, with his strength and fighting capabilities. Jim had opted for a dagger as well, though his was hanging from his belt. 

Jim had half expected for the ship that would be meeting them to be cloaked. Turned out it wasn't. But there was a good reason for that. It wasn't a warship. It was a cargo ship.

"Shit. Do they have *any* warships left at all?" Jim asked when the cargo ship came up on the screen.

"They must. I would presume that what warships remain have been sent to more hostile borders to guard them." Spock said.

Jim sighed, then turned to face Uhura. "Yeah, that would make sense. Uhura, if you will?"

Uhura adjusted the necessary controls, then nodded to Jim. Jim immediately turned around. A few seconds later, he was face to face with the captain of the cargo ship.

"Captain Kirk." The Klingon captain greeted. 

He was more or less sprawled in the Klingon version of a captain's chair, which really looked more like a throne, raised as it seemed to be from the rest of the bridge stations. He was an older Klingon, his hair gone steel gray. Most of his crew was likewise aged, though Jim spotted a younger-looking fellow lurking in the background.

"Captain Borik." Jim greeted. "Your escort is appreciated but unnecessary."

Jim was fairly sure he could already hear the Admiralty shrieking. It was going to be hilarious as hell when they got transcripts of this. Basically telling someone to go away, however nicely, was not the done thing in their eyes. But from what Jim had read, Klingons would read such a statement quite differently.

Basically, Jim had told Borik that he was aware the escort had been arranged by spineless politicians, and that he was sorry Borik had gotten dragged into an unnecessary duty. Further, it said that Jim and his ship were more than badass enough to make their way to Q'onoS alone no matter what trouble got in their way.

Borik shifted, sitting up straighter and eyeing Jim with readily apparent interest. "It is our pleasure and honor to escort you and your ship."

And that basically translated into 'understood and agreed, but duty is duty'. Or at least Jim hoped so.

"Lead on, then." Jim said. "And perhaps we can feast together on Q'onoS." And that translated to 'enough talk, let's get this over with. We will test each other's worthiness later'.

That got him what looked like a startled blink before Borik nodded sharply and cut off the comm.

Jim turned around to look at Uhura. "Did that go as well as I think it did?" He asked.

Uhura gave a sharp nod. "Yes. He went from being completely disinterested and bored to being interested and surprised, I think in a good way. I'll be able to tell for sure once I've talked to him more, but I'm about seventy-five percent sure as it stands."

Jim gave a pleased nod. "That's what I got, if not quite as clearly." He turned to Sulu and Chekov. "Keep us side by side with them, where neither their weapons nor ours can hit either ship, and far enough away for our shields not to overlap."

"You got it." Sulu said, and the pair of them turned to their instruments to carry out the order.

"Keep a sharp eye out. A lot of people know we're coming." Jim said. "I wouldn't put it past them to arrange a surprise for us."

(_)(_)(_)

As it had been a nearly-two-day trip to the Neutral Zone, it would be a nearly-two-day trip to Q'onos. Jim had gone back and forth on whether or not to engage their escort in more than greetings and dismissals with Uhura, and they had eventually decided that it would largely depend on Borik. If he got curious and contacted them again, then they'd go from there. If he didn't, they'd leave well enough alone.

It turned out that Borik's curiosity had gotten the better of him. He found an excuse to contact them again roughly halfway to Q'onoS.

"I was unaware that armaments were part of the Starfleet uniform." Borik said.

Jim had his work cut out for him to keep from laughing. Borik managed to make 'Starfleet' into the foulest-sounding word to ever exist. He was frankly surprised Borik didn't spit or the like to get the taste of the word out of his mouth.

"That has changed. Passivity and defense are no longer viable alternatives." Jim said, twisting his tone so that it was clear that he personally had never considered passivity and defense as options in the first place.

"And yet you have a woman, a Vulcan and a *child* on your bridge."

Jim *did* laugh at that. "Borik, I'd match that 'woman' against any female Klingon in the Empire." He said, and meant it. Uhura didn't look it, but she could be utterly vicious when riled. "As for the Vulcan ... " Jim shrugged. "He has his uses. And the child is hardly that. Looking young and innocent has its uses as well."

Of course, that was hardly Jim's real opinion of Spock and Chekov, but that didn't matter here. He had to talk the Klingon language, meet them on their level if this had a hope in hell of working. Which meant he couldn't really climb down Borik's throat sidewise in defense of two apparently 'weak' members of his crew. He had to settle for putting Borik on notice that there was more to them than it initially appeared. Uhura he could get away with defending more strongly because while female Klingons weren't a match for the males, they had their own abilities and specialties and Jim had been able to make it clear to Borik that Uhura had those same abilities and specialties ... or at least their Human equivalents.

Borik actually gave a bark of a laugh. "We shall see." And cut off the comms again.

(_)(_)(_)

From orbit, Q'onoS bore a worrying resemblance to Earth a century ago, just after the third World War. The amount of pollution in the air was staggering, and while there were still green and growing things, Jim wondered about just how healthy they actually were. Q'onoS was an old world, its continents having drifted apart then re-converging into a single massive landmass long ago. While the planet had a land-to-water ratio very similar to Earth's, it didn't really look it when one entire hemisphere was nothing but water dotted with small islands, and the other was almost entirely taken up with the one huge landmass.

Of course, from there, virtually any resemblance to Earth was lost. Q'onos' year was almost twice the length of Earth's. Its weather was far more extreme as well, going from bitter cold to extreme heat with little in the way of milder weather, and the planet was prone to violent storms. The coastlines in particular were subject to hurricanes that made the ones on Earth look like bathtub tempests, as they had a whole lot more room to grow before hitting land.

This was the first time that a Federation ship had been allowed in sensor range of Q'onoS, and Spock was taking full advantage of the opportunity. He called out his various findings as they were discovered.

"Their moon is being heavily mined." He said. "From these scans, it is highly likely that a catastrophe will occur within a century if nothing is done. The planet itself has similarly been stripped of as many resources as could apparently be easily reached."

"That explains the pollution." Jim said. "If they've torn the place up enough, it won't recover short of extreme measures being applied. That might be something we can offer them, if negotiations go well." 

Measures like the ones that Vulcans had applied to Earth after the two peoples had met. If it hadn't been for Vulcan scientific capabilities, Earth would have had to be abandoned for several centuries until the radiation levels became manageable. The entire remaining population had had to be inoculated against all forms of radiation poisoning just to prevent genocide-by-sterility.

Thankfully, the technology to cleanse a badly polluted planet hadn't died with Vulcan. Earth scientists had been quite eager to learn everything the Vulcans were willing to teach them about that particular subject, so there were still people around who knew how to do it.

"We're being hailed." Uhura warned.

Jim sat straighter in his chair. "On screen."


	10. First Meeting

First Meeting

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]] 

(_)(_)(_)

The viewscreen flickered briefly before the visual steadied. Jim found himself looking at a large stone room that was fairly dimly lit. On a sort of dais was what could only be described as a throne - a big, heavy, high-backed chair. The Klingon sitting in it was more sprawled out than sitting up straight, much as Borik had been in the initial moments of their first contact. There were about a dozen other Klingons in the room, more or less equally split and standing to either side of the center chair. All of them were wearing heavy leather-and-metal armor, a number of visible weapons, and quite a few accoutrements that Jim was sure held some importance, though he had no idea what those might be. It wasn't as if the Federation had a comprehensive knowledge of Klingons, after all.

It was fairly clear to Jim that the Klingons were at least attempting to intimidate himself and his crew. The fierce-looking display might even have worked on another captain and crew. With Jim and company, not so much.

Better, it was clear Jim had managed to surprise them somehow, as several of the Klingons twitched slightly when visuals were established. It was probably the weapons some of the crew were wearing. The Klingons couldn't have been expecting that.

One of the guys to the left of the guy on the throne stepped forward and started talking. Jim gave a purely mental snort, and immediately cut across the guy, completely ignoring him and whatever canned speech he was selling. What little they did have on Klingons, and what Jim had read in the past suggested that if he wanted to be respected at all, he couldn't let some toady of the leader do the negotiating. He had to go straight to the top.

[[Greetings, High Councilor Maktor. I am James, of the House of Kirk, Captain of the Starfleet ship USS Enterprise, Ambassador to the Klingon Empire for the United Federation of Planets.]] Jim barked out, doing his best to not look like he was reciting the greeting by rote, nor look like speaking Klingon was scouring his throat raw. Klingon did not do good things to human throats. The faintest hum behind him from Uhura's direction indicated that he'd gotten the words pronounced correctly

There was a moment of total silence from the Klingons, just long enough to make Jim sweat a little, worried that he had miscalculated and put his foot in it. Then Maktor sat up straighter and barked a laugh.

[[Greetings, Captain.]] Maktor barked in return. [[You and your crew are welcome. We feast at the ninth hour]] And the screen went blank.

Jim blinked at the screen. "That is going to take some getting used to." He said, then let out a sigh. "What the hell did he say? I understood 'greetings', 'captain', and I think I heard 'feast' in there somewhere but that was it."

"No kidding." Uhura said. "He said 'you and your crew are welcome, we feast at the ninth hour'."

"So it definitely went well." Jim decided. "Now ... what the heck time is it down there, and how much time do we have to get ready?"

Spock spoke up. "It is currently 19:35 local time in the capital city, Captain."

"Otherwise known as just past seven thirty in the evening ... the seventh hour?" Jim said. "So going by that, an hour and a half. And somehow, I think arriving early would be a good idea."

"Agreed." Spock said.

"All right, for this initial foray - Uhura, Spock, you're with me. If things go well, we'll add the rest of the gang next time." Jim said, then punched the comm button on his command chair. "Scotty!" He called. "Quit playing with your engines. You have the bridge."

"Aye aye, Captain. Be up there in a moment." Scotty responded.

Jim turned his attention back to Spock and Uhura. "I also think I spotted what might be a common 'tell'."

"The slouching." Uhura agreed. "Hard to tell with only having seen two Klingons do it, but that those two were a ship captain and the High Chancellor is ... significant. It's either an indicator of a species-wide habit, or a habit of high-ranking officials. Which of those it is, or if it's something different, will only be revealed if we see more of them doing it."

Scotty arrived before they could talk any more, and the three of them left the bridge to go get ready. On the turbolift, Jim glanced at the other two. "Armed." He told them. "Regular uniforms, but any combat-related awards you've earned displayed on them." 

Since the Klingons hadn't seemed to be shy about having what was probably their version of medals on display, Jim was going to follow suit. It was just too bad that having them both display their non-combat related awards wouldn't be a good idea, because Jim knew that would effectively quadruple the number of medals and ribbons the two of them would have been wearing.

Jim himself wasn't going to have any of his combat-related ribbons on display. It was a hunch he was playing. From everything he'd read, Klingons in leadership positions were the strongest, both physically and by other measures. It therefore followed that if Jim's people were utter badasses, he would (at least if he were a Klingon, anyway) have to be that much bigger a badass in comparison. Someone *that* badass had absolutely no reason whatever to display their prowess for all to see - that he controlled his crew spoke for him. He was fairly sure his hunch was right, too - he'd noticed Maktor hadn't had anywhere near the unknown bits and bobbles as the others had. He'd had a few, but Jim figured those were his rank insignia, or something similar.

(_)(_)(_)

Maktor was ... well pleased. Very well pleased.

Pinning his hopes on Jim Kirk had been something of a gamble. The man had shown what looked to be like very Klingon-esque behavior, but there had always been the chance that it had been a fluke. If the reports from Borik and what he had seen with his own eyes were any indication ... his hope had not been in vain.

Whether or not Jim Kirk had a Klingon soul, he was definitely clever enough to have altered what Maktor understood to be standard Starfleet procedure at least for these negotiations. Maktor was well aware that Starfleet crews did not lounge about on their ships carrying weapons. Yet according to Borik, some of Kirk's crew had weapons strapped to waists, thighs or backs when they'd talked.

Not only that, the man had either known or intuited that he needed to ignore the low-ranked Councilor that Maktor had caused to speak for him, and address Maktor himself as if the other Councilor didn't even exist. The first negotiators from the Federation had failed those tests rather spectacularly, even after the very first encounter, when they ought to have noticed and changed their approach.

In Klingon society, if you were a warrior or leader of sufficient strength, you did not treat with the followers of your opponents, whether those opponents were on the battlefield or merely political. You spoke to the leader - in the old days, almost always the Head of the Family - as the only one with the power to make and enforce any sort of agreement. It was an old and well-worn insult to make the leader of an opposing force meet with a subordinate, suggesting they were not powerful enough to warrant a leader's immediate attention. It was also tradition for leaders to force speaking to their opposite number when such a stunt was pulled, either by killing or maiming the subordinate, if the two met face-to-face, or by doing as Kirk had done and ignoring the subordinate entirely if the initial meeting was taking place over comms.

Hells, the man had even spoken their tongue. Maktor hadn't missed the fact that Kirk seemed to be speaking the words by rote, rather than as a fluent speaker, but that he had made the effort at all spoke well of him. Better still, by the murmurs of the Council, most if not all of them had seen what Maktor had seen, and approved at the very least. Some even sounded impressed.

Maktor very nearly laughed in delight when Kirk and two of his crew were announced as having arrived a full hour before the scheduled feast. Meeting with, and drinking/eating with an opponent before a battle (whether physical or otherwise) was a long, much-loved tradition for Klingons. So much so that Maktor had arranged things accordingly, scheduling a feast tonight before the negotiations began in the morning. Such revelries actually tended to begin and end at fairly loose times, so the fact that Kirk and company hadn't shown up 'precisely on time' was yet another good sign.

When Kirk and his compatriots walked in, Maktor had to stare for a moment, before wondering a little wildly if Kirk had any idea of the implications behind how the three of them walked in. Kirk was in the lead, at the center. The Vulcan was at his right shoulder and a half-step behind. The woman was at his left shoulder and a step behind.

Borik had been quick to report on his spontaneous, if brief, chat with Kirk during the trip to the Homeworld. The entire Council had buzzed about the implications behind Kirk's avowal that 'he'd match that woman against any female Klingon in the Empire.'.

In Klingon society, females who possessed the proper training and acted as agents of a particular leader always stood at that leader's left shoulder when meeting with other leaders. By the same token, a leader's second-in-command, the second-strongest Klingon available, stood at the leader's right shoulder. The Council was arranged in such a manner around Maktor himself. The politically second-strongest at his immediate right, a gap at his immediate left. Even if he'd *had* an appropriately-trained woman, they were forbidden in the Council and she would not have been allowed to stand by him - and no one would take that place.

Whether or not it was true, the formation the triad used said to Klingons 'This is the woman that will poison your drink or slip the knife in your ribs as you sleep if you cross me. And this is the man who will take my place and avenge my death if you kill me'. The choice of a Vulcan as second in command rather confounded Maktor and probably most of the rest of the Council. Everything they'd heard about this crew though said that this particular Vulcan deviated from the pacifistic, cowardly norm for Vulcans. This one had, by all reports, been instrumental in blowing the Narada into atoms, something every other Vulcan that Klingons had encountered would have had no part of.

[[Greetings, Captain Kirk.]] Maktor said, then indicated the man to his immediate right. [[This is KaiTan of the House of Korath]] Maktor then went on to name the other Councilors.

The woman murmured quietly as he spoke, obviously translating what he was saying. Maktor could tell that Kirk understood a few words here and there on his own, though. The Vulcan, as was typical of his race, was all but impossible to read.

(_)(_)(_)

Mentally, Jim was crowing in pleasure when the guy who had tried to start talking to him back on the bridge was one of the last people Maktor introduced. It was pretty easy to tell Maktor was introducing the other Councilors in order of their rank in the Council. Interestingly, it looked like the three of them had accidentally managed to arrange themselves in a way that was significant to the Klingons, if the fact that the first guy Maktor introduced was the first guy on his right was anything to go by. If it was, the guy was Maktor's successor/second-in-command or the like. The next person Maktor had introduced had been on his left.

Jim also didn't need the quiet pleasure in Uhura's voice as she translated to know that thus far, things were going incredibly well. He wasn't fool enough to think they'd stay going that well, but they were doing better so far than the other attempts at dealing with the Klingons had.

Once Maktor's introductions were over, Jim started his, this time in Standard. He'd been able to memorize the brief greeting mostly because the Klingon language had a tendency to compact damn near entire complex sentences into one or two words. It made memorizing what had been a fairly brief greeting pretty easy. Memorizing enough to cover more than the greeting in less than four days, though, was beyond his abilities, at least when he had a ship to run at the same time.

"Greetings, High Chancellor Maktor." Jim said, then indicated Spock. "This is Commander Spock, of the House of Surak." Then he indicated Uhura. "And this is Lieutenant-Commander Nyota, of the House of Uhura."

The three of them had discussed how they'd be introduced, hence his introducing himself the way he had over the comm earlier. Obviously, the Klingons knew (now) that humans at least didn't have Houses the way Klingons did. Jim, though, had been of the opinion that doing things the Klingon way as much as was possible would make the negotiations easier. Hence both using 'Houses' ... and not announcing that Uhura and Spock were his communications and Science Officers respectively. Neither were career paths that Klingons respected. Though Uhura, as a woman, would get a whole hell of a lot less shit for it than Spock would. Klingon women weren't warriors, and largely manned the non-warrior jobs their menfolk disdained.

Maktor seemed almost disappointed that Jim wasn't using his language. Unfortunately, while Jim could understand more than he could speak, and could read a bit more than he could understand of the spoken language, he was in no case fluent enough to get by on his own in the Klingon language.

Whether he was actually disappointed or not, Maktor shook it off and pushed to his feet. "Come. We feast."

The entirety of the Council, which had already been standing, moved to join Maktor. Jim eyeballed the lot of them, then gambled. He pushed through the group, aware of Spock and Uhura in his wake, until he was roughly abreast of Maktor.

Who let out a barking laugh, sounding thoroughly pleased.

Jim had known, halfway to Maktor, that he'd made the right call in not following tamely after the entire Council. None of the Councilors tried to attack him or Spock - he wasn't sure a Klingon male would attack a female, so he didn't count them not going for Uhura. If there'd been a problem, they'd have said or done something. Klingons were *not* known for tolerating insults in silence.

[[I begin to think there is hope that not all humans are cowards]] Maktor growled. Uhura murmured the translation to Jim a second later, along with a quiet opinion that the words were meant more for the other Councilors than for Jim.

Still, Jim wasn't going to let Maktor get away with insulting all of humankind. "If you think all humans are cowards, you know nothing of our history." He fairly snapped. "Our history is as red with blood as is that of your people. We value honor and courage as do you. We just express it differently."

"And what, pray tell, do you know of our history?" Maktor demanded. "Federation propaganda?"

Jim snorted. "If I knew only that, I wouldn't be here, their orders be damned, because I am not fool enough to treat with an untrustworthy opponent." He said. "I won't pretend an encyclopedic knowledge of your history, but I have read a number of articles from Klingon sources. Translated into Standard, I'll grant, but originally written by Klingons." Then, with a toothy grin. "One of them was a treatise written by Kahless."

Well, that got a rumble of approval from more than one source, as Jim had fully expected it to. The Klingons venerated Kahless almost to the point of his being a deity. Jim had made an effort to hunt down anything written by the man after he'd read one or two other things that had gotten him interested in Klingon philosophy. Of course, getting his hands on a copy of that treatise at all - let alone in Standard (this had been before he'd met Uhura) had not been easy.

That seemed to settle things for the moment, as Maktor turned and continued towards wherever the feast was going to be held. When they got there, Jim could only stare.

The room could have been ripped straight out of Earth's medieval period. It was an enormous stone room, with a vaulted ceiling and numerous stone column supports. There were tapestries on the walls. Given that each bore a different symbol, Jim assumed they represented the Klingon Houses. Torches and braziers - literal, I-shit-you-not torches and braziers - dimly illuminated the room, assisted by a few very discreet, hidden modern lights here and there. There was an enormous stone table down the center of the room, with equally big throne-chairs down its length and at each end. Each chair had one of the emblems from the wall tapestries on it. The tableware was all thick and durable, made of a silver-colored metal. There were tankards instead of 'normal' glasses at each setting. Down the center of the table was an admittedly stunning variety of meats, sauces, big pitchers of who-knew-what sort of drink, and a few covered dishes - the nearest of which Jim could see contained something that was moving.

Still working on the theories that had got him this far, Jim immediately moved to the chair closest to the door, subtly indicating for Spock to take the seat on his right. Uhura, who Jim knew had to have picked up on even more than he had, didn't need the cue to move to the seat to his left.

Interestingly, while Maktor did indeed take the seat at the far end, and the first guy he'd introduced had taken the seat to Maktor's right, the rest of the seating arrangement didn't follow suit, with the last introduced being closest to Jim's seat. Instead, the various Councilmen were mixed together. Jim suspected the seats were arranged to keep those with grievances with each other as separate as possible in order to reduce fighting - or worse.

(_)(_)(_)

Maktor was practically cackling as he took his seat. Kirk was even better than Maktor had hoped. Even he had not dared to dream that Kirk would know more about Klingons than whatever propaganda the Federation was selling. That Kirk had, at some point, read Klingon-written anything was stunning. And unless Maktor much missed his guess, Kirk had not read those papers in the last couple of days or even months. No, the reading had taken place long before they had been driven to sue for true peace.

Kirk's seemingly instinctive understanding of how to act was now explained at least in part. Possibly in whole, depending on what papers Kirk had read, especially considering one had been by none other than Kahless.

Had Maktor needed any further proof he'd made the right decision, it was put to rest incredibly swiftly. Kirk threw himself into both the energetic, loud atmosphere and the cuisine with apparent relish. This was the complete opposite of previous Federation emissaries, who had all looked less than happy. Maktor had been given to understand that one emissary from the very first batch had actually gotten sick just looking at the food on offer.

What surprised him was that the female was as quick to copy Klingon mannerisms, though she did not look to be enjoying it quite as much as Kirk, and was not eating the still-living dishes. She was, though, making the effort. The Vulcan was the sole holdout, and Maktor had expected no less from that quarter. But even the Vulcan, while quiet and picking at the vegetation rather than the real food, wasn't actively disdaining the meal or speaking out against them.

(_)(_)(_)

Nyota kept a very careful ear out from the moment they walked into the High Council building. She knew that Jim would be depending on her to catch stuff he'd miss due to not knowing the language. That and her ability to parse nonverbal cues. Not that Jim seemed to be missing a trick yet.

Jim was one of the rare people that Nyota'd had difficulty figuring out at first. Granted, some of her initial confusion had been generated by the fact he'd been falling-over drunk when they met. Afterwards, though, when he'd joined Starfleet, it'd taken a while for her to figure him out.

The thing about Jim was that he had, at some point, gone to a lot of trouble to hide who and what he truly was under a hell raiser front. The fact he didn't seem to process information like most people had probably helped him hide just how smart he was. Jim had the rather rare ability to take seemingly disparate pieces of information, put them together, and come up with both what was going on, and a way to fix it or work with it. To the unsuspecting eye, it tended to look like Jim was pulling stuff out of his ass.

The whole Narada thing was a case in point. The Kelvin Incident was required study in the Academy. Captain Pike had done a dissertation on it, and he had hardly been the first - or last - to do so. As a result, everyone in Starfleet had heard at least once how the Kelvin survivors had described the initial event that had drawn them to where the Narada had entered their universe/reality/whatever. Everyone on board the Enterprise had heard Chekov's 'lightning storm in space' comment. Hell, she herself had had all the same information that Jim had possessed, which included the loss of the Klingon fleet that the other cadets probably hadn't known about. Yet Jim had been the only one to make the connection and realize what the hell was going on. Worse, he'd been drugged up and suffering from allergic reactions when he'd figured it out, which meant his mind hadn't been working on all thrusters.

Today was another case in point. Jim knew as much as any of the rest of them did about Klingons. Maybe a bit more - Nyota knew he'd read some papers that not everyone went to the trouble of looking at. But whatever he'd read in addition to the standard Academy material couldn't have been all that much, simply because there wasn't much more known about the Klingons than what was in the Academy classes. Yet Jim was doing and saying things that previous ambassadors hadn't ... and it was working. But it still looked like Jim was pulling things out of his ass.

After the Narada thing, Nyota had made the decision to follow Jim's lead, leap where he lept, etc. He'd proven rather conclusively that even when he was making stuff up as he went (which he had to have been doing after they'd actually made contact with the Narada), his instincts were incredibly solid and reliable. So Uhura was doing her best to imitate their Klingon hosts, both in table manners and volume. She couldn't bring herself to eat the still-living dishes, especially not the one that looked like worms, but she could and did eat the others. Some of it was even pretty tasty, if a little heavier on the spices than even her mother's cooking could be.

The proof in how well Jim's gambits were paying off lay in the comments she was hearing. Most of the chatter had to do with non-Starfleet related things - House rivalries and the like. But the comments she did hear that had something to do with Starfleet or the Federation were mostly neutral. Some comments sounded quite pleased/impressed with Jim and herself, and at least not insulting about Spock, which given the Klingon antipathy towards Vulcans, was quite a concession. Only one or two of the Councilors sounded like they would much rather put a knife in one of the three of them than accept a true peace or joining the Federation.

The whole feast goes off without much of a hitch. There was a bit of a wrestling match up near Maktor near the end, between two of the Councilors, but it seemed to be a good-natured bout between allies or friends, rather than two enemies duking it out. It had probably been driven by the copious amounts of booze the Klingons were drinking. Thankfully, not even Jim had wanted to pickle his liver keeping up. He'd given every indication that he *was*, but Nyota had seen him discretely emptying his tankard whenever no one was paying particular attention to him. Thankfully, Klingons were not the neatest of eaters, so the 'spills' under and around Jim's chair wouldn't be notable. And for all it looked like he was drinking deeply when the tankard actually went to his lips, she knew he was barely sipping.

Jim could and did drink, but his reputation as a party animal was ... well in excess of the reality. He'd deliberately cultivated that reputation his first year, when he'd been making a point of stomping all over the rules and regs. So while Jim did have a good alcohol tolerance, it wasn't spectacular even for a human, and Nyota didn't think that most humans would be able to handle the Klingon drinks, especially not at the sheer volume the Klingons were drinking them. They packed a hell of a punch, as Nyota's own first cautious sip had revealed. Between that and the fact Jim refused to be compromised when he needed his brain working at full capacity, he wouldn't be drinking much, despite appearances. Nyota wasn't quite as deft at ditching her drink as Jim was, but it was rather apparent that none of the Klingons expected her to keep up with a man when it came to drinking.

She was going to enjoy shattering their delusions of female inadequacy when she got the chance, but now was not the time. Later, she'd deal with it later. And knowing Jim, he'd not only let her, but would engineer an opportunity for her to do so if one didn't occur naturally, then cheer her on while she beat sense into someone.

(_)(_)(_)

Spock had, when he had accepted the position of First Officer, made the decision to give Jim the benefit of the doubt. To watch, and to wait, and to, where necessary, inquire in private as to Jim's thought process as regarded a decision.

He had not expected to have to bring that decision to bear so swiftly after they'd embarked on their mission. Jim had barely let them get out of orbit before he'd started making decisions that seemed, on the surface, to be highly illogical. Yet, when he had inquired, there had been some sort of logic to Jim's decisions - he just seemed to derive that logic through highly illogical means.

Spock was beginning to think that he could - that he had in another reality, if his elder-self was any indication - study Jim for a lifetime and still not truly understand him or be able to predict Jim's actions. There was something rather alluring about the idea of never quite knowing what would happen next, no matter his applications of logic to whatever circumstances were before them. Spock was, in short, beginning to perceive a glimmer of what his elder self had meant, when he'd spoken of 'a friendship that will define you both', if he pursued such.

Spock picked through the available foods in search of items he could eat while he watched both Nyota and Jim plying their trades while simultaneously keeping an eye and ear on the Klingons. He knew his own observances would likely be of limited use, but there was always the chance, however small, that he would observe or hear something the others did not or could not, due to their more limited ranges of hearing and sight.

Jim did not make their excuses to Maktor until after six Councilors had left the table. This, Spock knew Jim had done on Spock's advice. It had been one of the pieces of advice Spock had given Jim from his observations of his father at work. It was important to give the right impression, and a difficult balance to meet. Jim did not want to make it look like he'd only been waiting for an excuse to get out of there, which leaving before anyone else had left, or after the first Councilor to leave would do. At the same time, remaining until almost everyone had left would engender accusations of favoritism at the very least in the upcoming negotiations. With half the Councilors and Maktor still at the table, there would still be plenty of witnesses to the fact that no negotiations had begun, nor deals struck in the absence of the others.

It was not until they had been beamed back onto the Enterprise, and Jim visibly sagged against the wall of the turbolift, that Spock realized how much the evening had taken out of Jim. It did not reflect poorly on Jim at all. Jim was not a trained negotiator of any stripe. That he had performed so successfully thus far was to his credit. Unfortunately, Jim was having to learn, as the humans said, 'on the fly', and make things up as he went along in his effort to engender a successful negotiation, and such extemporaneous decision making over a prolonged period could be quite taxing.

After a few moments, Jim straightened up and glanced at Spock and Nyota. "We need to go over how things went, before we crash for the night. I want to make sure we have as good a plan of action figured out for tomorrow as we can manage."

"Agreed." Spock said. Nyota gave her agreement half a moment behind him.

"My quarters again. There's more room." Jim said, and they all got out on his level and followed him to his quarters.

Once inside, Jim flopped down on the couch as though he had gone abruptly boneless. Spock took his seat in one of the chairs far more circumspectly. Nyota took the far end of the couch Jim had flopped down on. After another few moments, Jim sat up and pinned them both with an intense look.

"Right. Let's go through this from the top."

(_)(_)(_)

Jim was tired, but he knew they had to go over what had happened. They were still largely flying blind when it came to working with the Klingons, so they needed all the help they could parse from what had happened.

"Maktor looked like he was half a second away from yelping, or some other verbal shocked reaction, when we walked in." Uhura said. "I'm as certain as I can be that we accidentally stumbled across something that has significance in Klingon culture."

"Agreed." Jim said. "I noticed that too, especially when the first guy he introduced was on his right, and the next was on his left. It looked like, from there, they were arranged by rank, right and left."

"I find it both curious and significant that there was a gap in the ranks, on Maktor's left." Spock admitted. "If what you two are surmising is true."

Uhura got a thoughtful look on her face. "It just might be significant. Remember when I commented on the fact that assassinations were pretty much par for the course in Klingon politics? But we know that Klingon men think things like assassinations are dishonorable."

Jim nodded, and then realized where she was going with that thought. "So ... their womenfolk do the assassinating. And if a guy has a woman like that on tap, she ... stands to his left? But there wasn't one in the Council lineup. Maybe because all of them having those women with them would make for a crowded room. So the traditional place for such a woman to stand at the Chancellor's left was kept open for whatever reason."

"A reasonable conclusion, given the information we possess." Spock agreed. "You were also quite correct as regarded their reactions to violence and threats."

Jim grinned. Spock hadn't been any too happy with Jim's insistence on meeting the Klingons' aggressiveness with more of the same. It sort of went against the grain for normal ambassadorial/negotiation tactics, where the idea was to remain calm and neutral and not piss people off.

"You were definitely making the right calls." Uhura agreed. "I only heard one or two of them making negative remarks about us in particular, though there were more who were derogatory of the Federation and Starfleet in general. Several of them actually seemed impressed."

Spock nodded. "While I am not as conversant in the Klingon language as Uhura is, I too was able to ascertain that most of them were if not in favor, then at least not opposed to the idea of peace with the Federation. And many were impressed with what they know of our actions in the defeat of the Narada."

Jim grinned. "Well, that is definitely good news. I thought things were going well, but it's nice to know I wasn't imagining things." He huffed. "So. Plan for tomorrow. We use the same formation. Right and left. I'm thinking Sulu behind you, Spock - he's not next in rank, but he's next when it comes to ass-kicking skills, which is what the Klingons care about. Bones behind Uhura, because while he's a doctor and doesn't approve of ass kicking, he is not exactly passive, and will dish out the pain if he has to." Jim hesitated for a moment, considering the remaining two crewmen that would be attending the negotiations.

"Scotty behind Sulu." Uhura recommended. "I've seen his file. He can handle himself well enough when it comes to defense, and he's nearly as canny an operator as you are, for all he has a reputation as a scatterbrain. And Chekov behind McCoy."

Jim thought about it, and nodded. "Works for me. It'll make them underestimate Chekov, too, which can only work to our advantage when things get sticky. Which they will. Chekov's young, and he's got the baby-face down pat, but he's a devious little shit, and when you're that smart that young, you learn to be able to defend yourself." Jim knew that one from experience. "He'll be the first one they try to push, and they'll be in for a surprise. Ramming into Scotty will just reinforce the lesson."

Uhura laughed. "And if they keep pushing, well ... we all know how fond McCoy is of hypos. And Sulu is just crazy enough to go toe-to-toe with one of them in a 'fair' fight. Spock of course won't have a problem if it comes to that, and they won't challenge me, at least not that way. Not with me being a girl, and even if they did, I'm not exactly helpless." That made Jim outright giggle - something he generally didn't do unless he was really tired - as it brought to mind her thrashing of Cupcake. "So really, they're going to get knocked back no matter who they pick on." Uhura finished, speaking over his giggling, though she was smiling, clearly aware of what her comment would have brought to mind.

"Right. And we call them on the carpet whenever they start the 'you are wimps' thing." Jim said. "Though I'm still rather at a loss for what to do beyond that. We're going to still be having to make up a lot as we go along. Though I'm willing to bet they're going to want to hear about how we kicked the Narada's ass at some point."

"Agreed. There were quite a few comments to that effect at the feast." Uhura said. "So you'd better polish your storytelling skills."

Jim tried to think if there was anything else they had to go over, but he was tired enough that if there was, it wasn't coming to mind. "Ok, my brain has officially gone to mush. Meeting adjourned and if you think of anything before we leave tomorrow morning, send a message."

Spock and Uhura both agreed, and soon left. Jim huffed another breath, then heaved himself out of the couch and got some low-cal cinnamon candies from the replicator. He needed something that would wash the taste of the Klingon food out of his mouth. It hadn't been the worst thing he'd ever eaten, but it had been uncomfortably close in a couple of cases. He popped the candies in his mouth and headed for the bathroom and a shower before he collapsed for the night.


	11. Negotiations, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. No, seriously, this chapter. Fun to write, but also a challenge. Also of note: Some stuff about how the Federation works etc is probably not according to canon. I changed it deliberatey, because it's pretty clear from the movie that Starfleet at least is not the same in AOS as in TOS. Pike called it a *peacekeeping armada*, which is HELLA different from a primarily exploratory/scientific fleet.

Negotiations, Part 1

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]] 

(_)(_)(_)

The first thing Jim did the next morning was ensure the beta-shift Bridge, Engineering and Medical crews were up, on their toes, and at their stations. He didn't much like depriving the ship of its primary command crew, but this was one of those times where it would be required. Not only did they have to meet the Klingons on as equal a footing as could be managed, but Jim was willing to bet his commission that they'd want to hear the story of the fight from the people who'd been involved. Repeatedly.

Today was going to be a hell of a challenge. The night before had merely been the appetizer, so to speak. Dunking their collective toes in the water to see what it might be like. However someone wanted to phrase it.

"Alpha Command Crew, meeting in the Captain's Quarters in fifteen minutes." Jim announced once he'd checked on the Beta crew, and while he was still en route back to his own quarters.

Much to his amusement, Spock beat him there, and Uhura was only seconds behind Jim's arrival, both of them arriving well before the fifteen minute time limit was up. Jim let them in, and they both took the places they'd taken previously - Spock in one of the chairs, and Uhura on the far end of the couch from Jim.

Chekov and Sulu were the next to arrive, and came in together, both of them bouncing on the balls of their feet and Sulu with that determined and slightly crazed look in his eye he'd gotten before and during the drill thing. Sulu also already had his fold-away sword strapped to his back, but if Chekov was armed, Jim couldn't tell. Bones arrived next, looking sourer than ever, not that Jim blamed him. Scotty was the last to arrive.

Once everyone was there, Jim sat forward. "Right, I'll make this as short as I can since we have better things to do with our time today. First thing first - make sure you're armed if you know how to use a non-energy based weapon. Secondly, make sure you're all wearing all combat-related awards you've earned."

Thankfully, they all had at least one, thanks to the Narada mess. Scotty might well have more than that since he had been in Starfleet a while before he'd been exiled to Delta Vega.

"We figured out yesterday that Klingons have a definite ranking system, and who stands by who is an indication of rank. In keeping with the whole 'meet them on their level' idea, we're going to be imitating it." Jim continued. "So this is how we're going to walk in, and whenever it's possible and applicable after that." Jim pointed to Spock. "Spock will be on my immediate right. Sulu, you're behind or beside him, and Scotty, you're behind or beside Sulu." Then he pointed to Uhura. "Uhura will be on my immediate left. Bones, you're behind or beside her, and Chekov, you're behind or beside Bones."

Then Jim focused on Chekov. "You're going to come in for a good amount of heat." He admitted. "From what we saw, the guys on the left side were lower-ranked than the ones on the right. On top of that, you're young. So they're going to head for you first to see what we're made of. That said, I will happily kick someone's ass if they come on stronger than you can handle, so don't hesitate to yell for help if you need it."

Chekov grinned toothily. "I think they will be surprised at how much trouble I can give them, Captain." He said with a laugh. "I heard Borik. I am a 'child'." He rolled his eyes expressively. "I am not so helpless as they think."

"No shit." Jim agreed. "Though personally, I'm waiting for the Klingon who's idiot enough to try to take a chunk out of Uhura. That one's going to be fun."

That comment earned him a slap on the arm from Uhura, but she also had an amused/pleased expression on her face. "I seriously doubt any of them will, Captain. After all, I *am* female, and therefore inferior, and attacking me would doubtlessly sully their honor."

Jim snorted. "Yeah, and I'm betting there's going to be someone desperate enough to keep this alliance from happening that they'll try something, and you're the so-called 'weakest link' because of your sex. At least in their eyes anyway."

Uhura wrinkled her nose, but nodded. "You have a point." She agreed. "Chekov will probably have to watch out for that too, since he'll be in the 'weakest' position in the lineup, which will make him the next most likely target." Then she pinned Jim with a look. "Provided they're not desperate enough to go straight to the top."

Jim gave her a toothy grin. "Yeah, don't worry, I got that covered." He refocused on everyone else. "Basically, everyone watch your backs, remember to not go anywhere alone if you have any choice in the matter. If you're not sure how to respond to something they're doing or saying, follow my lead." He got a bunch of nods. "Anyone have any questions?" A bunch of headshakes and audible negatives. "Right then, go get yourselves kitted out. We leave in fifteen minutes."

(_)(_)(_)

Maktor was looking forward to this. Last night had been entertaining in the extreme. The feast hall had practically exploded the moment Kirk, his woman and the Vulcan were out of hearing range. Granted only half his Councilors had been in the room when Kirk had left, but they'd still provided a look at the reactions of most of the camps on this matter. The most problematic camp - the one that wanted to kill Kirk and destroy the Federation so that Klingons reigned supreme, regardless of the complete unfeasibility of such an idea - had all left as soon as they could, eager to get the reek of human and Vulcan out of their noses.

Unfortunately, there was little Maktor could do about that bunch. Oh, he could, and would, foil any plots he managed to catch wind of, but the likelihood of them managing something that he couldn't stop was high. He just hoped that Kirk would be able to handle that sort of problem when it hit.

The rest of the Councilors had been various shades of impressed, delighted, and eager - though generally not for the same reasons. Maktor was fairly sure that most of the ones who'd been in the room after Kirk left hadn't gotten any sleep last night thanks to talking the whole event over with their compatriots and families, since they'd been in the room when he had finally forced himself to leave. They would doubtlessly have had hours of discussion just with their families when they got home, even if they'd left immediately, which he knew wasn't the case for at least some of them because they'd been deep in debate. Those Councilors might have been willing to forego a night's sleep before the 'battle', but Maktor knew he needed to be fresh and ready and on his toes today, so he'd finally left in order to get *some* sleep. Not all that much, sadly. He'd still had affairs of state to deal with, not to mention finalizing his plan for the day in light of the information he now possessed.

The best part, at least in Maktor's opinion, was that he had no idea at all what Kirk would do next. The Councilors were fairly predictable to him after having dealt with them a few years. Not so with Kirk. And evidently he wasn't the only one to be thinking along those lines, as the Councilors gathered at an unprecedentedly early hour to continue their debates and ensure they were on hand if Kirk arrived early. The gossip that Maktor was thusly privy to pointed to no less than four Councilors who were making bets on what Kirk would do next, among other wagers.

It turned out that what Kirk would do next was arrive in force with his entire command crew. Maktor nearly cackled. Kirk had obviously figured out - if he hadn't known already - that the right-and-left positioning had significance, and had run with it. They walked in in a very narrow V formation, just enough distance between the two arms and each person to be able to tell where they were supposed to be in the lineup.

Maktor had no idea if Kirk had placed his people the way a Klingon would, but he found himself wanting to judge them accordingly. If he was doing it, at least one other Councilor was, if not most of them. In that light it was a successful gambit, no matter how Kirk had set his people up in that lineup.

Kirk had kept the placement of the woman and the Vulcan from the night before, which inclined Maktor to believe that Kirk really did understand what the placements meant, since he knew the Vulcan was Kirk's second in command. Maktor eyed the others with interest, wondering who was who. Maktor knew, at least generally, what a Federation command crew would consist of since there couldn't be that many differences in how a ship was run. So among the men behind the Vulcan and the woman was a pilot, a gunner, an engineer, and a comm officer. Who did what was the question. The boy at the back left was probably their comm officer, Maktor eventually decided. He was too young for any other position. Other than that, however, Maktor couldn't guess.

[[Greetings, Captain Kirk]] Maktor growled. He sensed more than saw the subdued reaction from some of the Councilors at his speaking first.

While Maktor had greeted Kirk first the night before, and introduced his Council, the rules that governed pre-battle celebrations were different from the rules that governed the actual battles. It had been Maktor's duty, as the host of the celebration, to speak first.

Speaking first now was an entirely different matter. By speaking first now, he was putting Kirk on a nearly equal level to himself. As High Chancellor, this was his land, his Empire. He was the one in the position of strength here. He had but to speak, and every Klingon on the planet would, theoretically, rise up against Kirk and his crew. In a similar situation between two Klingons, the weaker would speak first, thus admitting their weaker position by opening the verbal battle.

But this situation was somewhat different than two Klingons facing off. Kirk may have been out here alone, with just his ship and his crew, but everyone knew that he had the might of the Federation and Starfleet behind him. So while Kirk was of far lesser rank, and had come to Maktor's home turf, he was technically of nearly equal power. Not only that, but Kirk had acquitted himself well enough the day before to have earned this recognition. It was not something that had been accorded any other Federation emissary, despite that they too had technically been the then-Chancellor's equal in power.

This man, Maktor was willing to speak to, leader to leader. Equal to equal, or as near as could be managed, given the differences in their positions. And while surprised, it was clear that the Council largely agreed, or there'd have been a much more noticeable reaction. As it stood, there was only minimal grumbling from the hard-liners that wanted no part of joining the Federation.

[[Greetings, High Chancellor Maktor.]] Kirk returned. Then, clearly having exhausted his spoken Klingon, he switched to Standard, and introduced the crewmen that hadn't been present the day before.

Maktor didn't miss the fact that Kirk never once said what their positions were. He gave only their ranks and names. Clever. This way, anyone of a mind to do such a thing could not target a specific person for kidnapping or murder in order to gain particular knowledge or deprive Kirk of it. Better still, aside from the child at back left and the woman, it left them with no clear 'weak' targets. Maktor was even willing to bet that neither the boy nor the woman were the soft targets Maktor was inclined to think of them as being, either. Humans, after all, weren't Klingons. While that was in most cases a cause for derision amongst the general Klingon populace, Maktor was wise enough to admit that it could mean that humans had abilities that Klingons did not.

Introductions over with, Maktor got to his feet. [[Come. The treaty room awaits.]]

He led the way to the Treaty Room. The Treaty Room was a large stone room devoid of much of anything that could be used in a fight. There were metal chairs bolted to the floor and modern strip lighting up along the ceiling. This meant neither chairs not lighting could be easily converted into weapons if a fight broke out. There was literally nothing else in the room. This served two purposes. Firstly, it ensured that whatever combatants were using the room were as equal as could be managed while in the room. The lack of furniture or other items also at least lessened the damage done when a fight broke out, as Klingons went to negotiations armed to the teeth. 

This treaty room was hardly the only one of its kind, though admittedly all the others were scattered around the capital city. There weren't such rooms anywhere else in the Empire. The capital city's status as neutral ground was the only thing that permitted the existence of such rooms. No Klingon in his right mind would trust a room in an enemy's territory to not be up to its ears in traps and hidden weapons.

The chairs were in a rough circle, each far enough away from its neighbors that it was necessary to either get up or throw something in order to attack someone. This made it easier to see when a fight was brewing, as throwing something was not exactly easy to do subtly, and getting up was painfully obvious. The rough circle also stopped any and all arguments about who got the position of importance at the head of a normal table.

This being the Treaty Room in the Great Hall, there were a lot more chairs than they needed for this particular meeting, but that was fine. The last time all the chairs in this room had been in use during a treaty negotiation had been nigh on to five hundred years ago.

(_)(_)(_)

Jim fought down a smirk as they walked into the room where they'd hammer out the alliance. So far, so good. Of course, they hadn't really even started for the day yet, but Jim would take every bit of good he could get. After all, they could easily have ended up having a brawl break out already. Such an occurrence wasn't even unique to the Klingons. The treaty negotiations between the Vulcans and the Andorians made for extremely entertaining reading.

Jim eyeballed the room as they entered, and made another risky call. He wasn't about to sit ten or fifteen chairs down from Maktor and have to yell just to be heard. Yeah, Klingons talked loud, and Jim intended to follow that lead, but having to shout just to be heard at all because of the distance between himself and Maktor was ridiculous.

So he stalled long enough for Maktor and the guy Jim had pegged as his second-in-command to sit their asses down, and then he sat down one down from the second in command. Spock, bless him, followed that lead and sat down to Jim's immediate right, though he didn't turn to face Maktor, instead sitting facing forward so he could see everyone else in the room. Uhura, equally as quick on the uptake, scooted into the chair between Jim and the second in command, where she would be in the best position to translate.

The entire fucking room froze. Jim was deeply amused to see that more than one of the Councilors looked just plain confused. Of course, it was far less amusing to note that a couple of them looked like they wanted nothing more than to kill Jim and the rest of his crew right then and there. He'd have to watch those guys like a hawk. Maktor himself stared at Jim for a long moment, no easily understood expression on his face. Which was not to say he had no expression on his face at all. He did, but Jim didn't have the first clue on how to interpret that look.

[[Allow them to sit among us]] Maktor barked. He sounded distinctly amused.

Huh. Jim wondered at that. They were still missing things all over the place, thanks to the huge gaps in their knowledge of Klingon culture and traditions. So far, Jim's instincts were working in their favor. He'd just have to hope that continued.

There was more than a little grumbling among the Klingons at that order, but they obeyed. Seats were left empty in between the Klingons, allowing the Enterprise crew to mingle, rather than having to sit in a single block at one end of the circle or something. Jim almost laughed when Chekov, exuding innocent naivety like mad, plunked himself down right beside one of the Klingons that was pretty high in the power stakes of the Council. 

Sulu plunked himself down next to the guys who deliberately sat as far away from the action as they could get. They were also the ones Jim had mentally tagged to keep an eye on, so Jim was betting that Sulu had spotted that problem as well and wanted to keep an eye out. Since Sulu was the second or third best fighter among them, it was the right place for him to be if all hell broke loose. Bones and Scotty picked seats more or less at random, Jim thought. Well, Bones had for sure, Jim knew him well enough to be sure of that. Scotty, he wasn't quite as sure of, since he didn't know Scotty anywhere near as well as he knew Bones.

"So." Jim said, once everyone was seated. "There's a whole bunch of fancy, stupid, utterly unnecessary shit I'm supposed to say here." He rolled his eyes. "Which I'll just skip, because it's stupid and unnecessary. It's better just to get right to the meat of it. What you guys want, what we want, and figuring out how to meet in the middle if there's differences between the two." He fought down a cackle as he paused to let Uhura translate. He could just *hear* the Admiralty now. His kingdom to be a fly on the wall when they saw the transcripts for yesterday and today. Hopefully, Chris would tell him all about it, or better still, have video of it.

Jim let Maktor lead off, since Jim couldn't exactly tell Maktor much of anything until he heard what Maktor wanted out of this.

Half an hour later, when Maktor finally wound down, Jim was torn between glee and horror. Glee because what Maktor wanted, what he was asking for/demanding, wasn't anything the Federation couldn't or wouldn't give. The horror was because it was fairly clear even to Jim from Maktor's tone (and Uhura's reactions to Maktor's phrasing) that he thought they *wouldn't get it*. It made Jim wonder just how much the Klingons knew/had been told about the Federation, and by who. He wouldn't put it past some asshole to give the Klingons erroneous information in an attempt to keep 'savages' out of the Federation. Jim sat forward a little bit now that it was his turn.

"Ok, the good news is, this is not going to be anywhere near as much of a problem as you think it will be." He told Maktor, opting just to speak plainly. Hell, it had worked so far. "The bad news is, I think someone, somewhere, gave your people erroneous information about how the Federation works. So I'm going to explain it."

Maktor cocked his head even before Uhura translated, which told Jim he knew at least some Standard. That said, Jim had a feeling the gesture had more to do with him listening to Uhura's translation of what Jim was saying that anything else.

"First and foremost." Jim said. "The Federation doesn't generally concern itself with the internal workings of its member races. We mostly don't force or try to force particular laws, cultural expectations or ways of life on anyone. We do have certain rules that everyone needs to abide by, but they're not all that complicated, and there aren't that many of them." 

He lifted a finger. "First - no starting wars with other member races. You don't have to *like* all the other member races. We don't even mind if you're rude and snooty with folks you don't like. You just can't go starting wars with anyone else in the Federation. Second." He lifted another finger. "No starting wars with non-Federation races without Federation go-ahead. If someone attacks you first? Go right ahead and kick their asses, we won't mind a bit and we'll actually send backup if and when that happens and you need or ask for it. We've done that before for more than one member race. Just don't *start* wars. Third," 

Jim lifted another finger. "No slavery. From what I know of you guys, that isn't ever going to even approach being a problem. Fourth," a final finger. "No mucking about with the pre-warp capable races out there. It's Federation policy to just leave them alone and do their thing. Experience has taught that providing high-level tech or otherwise influencing the evolution of less-advanced folks does *not* end well, one way or another."

Jim took a deep breath before continuing. "Other than those four big rules and a couple smaller ones - the smaller ones mostly have to do with technological advances that a member race has discovered are VERY dangerous to the health of all and sundry being off limits - you guys can do what you want with yourselves. If you run into a problem you can't fix, whether that's an internal argument between factions, a huge natural disaster, or something else, the Federation will step in and help if they can. Sometimes we can't, because whatever's wrong just can't be fixed for any of a number of reasons. But if it *can* be fixed, you can bet we'll get it fixed if you can't."

Maktor nodded when Uhura finished translating.

"As for your worries about representation ... don't worry. Every member race has two representatives on the Federation Council. Representatives have to be changed out a minimum of every twenty years, but it can be more frequently than that if the member race wants it to be." Jim explained

"The reason there are two representatives is because the President of the Federation, who is elected from the Council, is changed out every five years. No President is allowed to serve two consecutive terms. That law was put in place both to make sure that no one President could wreck the Federation too badly, and to ensure that at least theoretically, everyone could get a fair shot at having a representative become President." 

"Every member race has the right to put one of their representatives forward as the potential new President during the election process. If your guy gets picked, the second representative controls both votes for the Empire until the five year term is over, since the President has to be neutral in Federation matters, and thus cannot vote for his member race on anything that comes up for a vote during their tenure." Jim blew out a breath once he'd gotten that explained.

[[And how long before our representative could be put forward?]] Maktor wanted to know.

"You can put someone forward after you've had representatives on the Council for a full five-year President's term. That's mostly in place so representatives from a new member race have a chance to figure out how things work in the Council. Usually, representatives don't get voted into the President spot until their society has been a Federation member for at least ten years, though." Jim told him. Vulcans and humans had been the exception to that rule, but then again, they had been the 'parent races' of the Federation, and thus had been there right at the start. 

[[That seems fair. And wise.]] Maktor allowed.

"You'll also be provided with a parcel of land on Earth, in a location of your preference. That land will hold the Klingon embassy, and will be sovereign Klingon soil. Which means that your laws, culture, etc, are in effect there, rather than Earth or general Federation laws etc. Embassies elsewhere in the Federation will be at your discretion, but in each case, the embassy is Klingon territory, and your laws operate there in full." Jim told Maktor.

[[A location of our preference?]] Maktor asked.

"Yeah. For instance, the Vulcan embassy is located in the hottest, driest part of Earth, where they would feel most comfortable. Several other embassies are located in environments congenial to the member race it belongs to. So if you guys would prefer specific environmental conditions, we'll situate your Earth embassy somewhere that either matches, or comes as close as Earth is capable of managing." That explanation got another nod.

"In addition to all of that, Klingons will have the right to visit, live on, and do business with every Federation planet, colony or space installation of any description. If any of them are interested, Klingons will be able to appeal for citizenship of a particular planet, rather than the Empire. They will also be able attend any scholastic institution of interest to them that they qualify to attend, including Starfleet Academy."

Jim grinned a bit. "Klingons will also be able to join Starfleet, whether through the Academy, or as already trained officers. That said, it'd have to wait until next year sometime, maybe a bit longer than that. The reason being that Starfleet would want to institute an officer exchange program between the Klingon fleet and Starfleet. That means that one of our officers would would work aboard a Klingon ship, living by and obeying Klingon Fleet rules and regs, and one of your officers would come work on a Starfleet ship, living by and obeying Starfleet rules and regs. After a minimum of six months, those two officers would become the primary advisors for both sides, so that adjustments can be made by both sides so that Klingons would be comfortable serving in Starfleet."

[[What do you mean by adjustments?]] Maktor wanted to know.

"What I meant." Jim said. "Is things like Vulcans not being big on physical contact. We figured that out, and disseminated that information throughout Starfleet. With everyone knowing about that, it reduces the likelihood of people getting physical with a Vulcan, which makes them more comfortable. Betazoids need a certain type of shielding in their personal quarters to give them a break from the mental noise they deal with all day. We make sure to add that shielding. So if Klingons have something in particular, whether it's a cultural thing or something you guys need to maintain your health, we need to know so we can make sure it's available or allowed. Likewise, you guys would be able to tailor the education of any Starfleet hopefuls so they have the best chance of excelling in Starfleet."

Maktor grunted wordlessly as he thought that one over, then nodded. [[That seems wise.]] He admitted. Then he sighed. [[And what will we be required to relinquish for this largesse? Our cloaking technology, I presume?]]

Jim fought down an exasperated smirk. Maktor'd hit the nail dead on the head. The Admiralty hadn't quite demanded that Jim wrest cloaking tech from the Klingons, but they'd come remarkably close to it. Jim had promptly ignored that. The Klingons and Romulans had been very protective of their cloaking tech. Hell, they'd both been willing to go to war over it. Asking for it to be handed over before the Klingons could join the Federation would ensure they *wouldn't* join the Federation. Jim wasn't anywhere stupid enough to think that the strongest proponents for demanding the cloaking tech in exchange for Federation membership hadn't known that.

"No." Jim said. "I won't deny that my superiors would like to get their hands on it, but no, it's not required. You wouldn't be the first member race to have a proprietary technology, medical or scientific technique, or some other thing or other that they refuse to share, and are still in the Federation without being required to share it. You'll have plenty else to offer. "

Jim grinned. "You'd be surprised at what people think is viable trading goods, sometimes. Foods, spices, fabrics, domesticated animals, and much, much odder things than those are offered by various member races. I know you specifically stated you'd be willing to share your dilithium resources, which quite frankly, everyone is thrilled with, because dilithium is hard to find, and we don't have very many mines of it."

"Other than trading," Jim continued. "We'd ask you to be willing to back up Starfleet and the Federation member holdings closest to your borders if some idiot decides to cause trouble. I know that's a problem for you guys right now due to the lost ships, but I've been authorized, if you agree to join, to arrange with some of our biggest suppliers of metal ores and the like to send shipments here so you can rebuild faster. Personnel too, if you need them and are willing to accept extra hands from outside sources."

(_)(_)(_)

The more Maktor heard from Kirk, the more he liked the man. He spoke plainly, clearly, and bluntly. All traits a Klingon could appreciate. There were no attempts to lie, or muddy the waters. Maktor knew this wouldn't be quite as simple as Kirk was painting it, but the fact remained that if Kirk was being even half-honest (which Maktor was sure he was) the peace process would not be anywhere near as difficult as Maktor had feared it would be.

He also agreed with Kirk. Someone, somewhere, had lied to the Empire as to how the Federation functioned and treated its member races. The Federation had rather been painted with a bad brush, as usurpers who meddled in every aspect of their member races lives and decreed how they could live. Who the guilty party for that view was, Maktor did not know, and would probably never be able to discover.

He and the other Councilors had, of course, debated long and hotly over what they'd be willing to share with the Federation. Hearing that they would be permitted to keep some things to themselves went a long way to easing most of Maktor's concerns. He had little doubt that Starfleet and the Federation would keep trying to get their hands on cloaking technology. Provided the whole thing didn't fall apart in the first ten years, Maktor might just consider letting them *have* it at that point, if he was still Chancellor then.

They hadn't actually considered things as simple as foodstuffs and textiles as viable offerings. All their possibilities had been technology, ores and gems of various descriptions and uses, a few mining techniques designed for nigh-impossible mining conditions and the like. The idea of targhs or any other domesticated Klingon animals being acquired as pets by others was amusing.

The offer of ores and other materiel to build ships with was tempting as all hell. They had resigned themselves to a disturbingly lengthy period of time with next to no fleet, as even if they could crew each ship instantly, which was not guaranteed with the loss of so many of their personnel, they would still only be able to produce two to three ships a year with native resources. Which meant their fleet would not be back to full strength for fifteen years at the absolute least.

[[I think an equitable trade can be arranged]] Maktor said. Which more or less said 'yeah, we're in.' even though they hadn't gotten to the nitty gritty details, and wouldn't today. [[Your ores for our dilithium]]


	12. Negotiations, Part 2

Negotiations, Part 2

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]] 

(_)(_)(_)

Q'onoS

Just because the treaty process was going to be easier than either Jim or Maktor had assumed it would be, did not mean it was going to be fast, easy, and painless. Jim had known better than to assume that. So, he was betting, had Maktor.

The initial 'this is what we want', 'this is what we'll consider giving you' give-and-take over with, it was time to get down to business. Jim swiftly discovered that he *liked* negotiating with Klingons.

Jim was by nature very physically active, and wasn't shy about letting people know how he felt about things. With most other races, these facts would have made Jim a rather poor negotiator. With the Klingons, it was a whole different story. Klingons were plain spoken, loud, exuberant, physically demonstrative of their emotions whatever those emotions might be, and just generally right up Jim's alley.

Things started fairly tentatively. Jim could tell that Maktor was at least trying to moderate his responses in deference to what he expected to be dealing with in regards to a human negotiator. That fell by the wayside within half an hour when Jim consistently met Maktor's reactions tit for tat.

After that, things really got fun. Jim got into so many yelling matches he didn't have much of a voice left by the end of the day. Interestingly, while the first few such matches were with Maktor, a couple hours into the negotiating some of the other Councilors got in on the act and started yelling matches of their own. First with Jim, then towards the end of the day with the rest of the Enterprise command crew.

Uhura, Scotty, and Chekov had the time of their *lives* with that. Scotty and Uhura, like Jim, were physically active and not shy about speaking their minds. Chekov wasn't quite in the same league, but he was enough of a troll to enjoy baiting people. Even Bones was having fun, as he was rather cantankerous by nature. The only one who didn't do any actual yelling was Spock, but even Spock got in on the arguing towards the end of the day. Spock contented himself with very pointed commentary and frankly evil glares.

Of course, there wasn't just yelling going on, either. Jim got into something like twenty shoving matches of varying severity with Maktor and some of the Councilors during the course of the day, and had stood toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest with just about every Councilor at least once, both for close-range yelling and for the purposes of attempted physical intimidation and staredowns. How things didn't devolve into a fistfight some of those times, Jim wasn't entirely sure.

As with the yelling matches, the shoving matches and intimidation tactics didn't stay just between Jim and Maktor for very long. The rest of the gang on both sides got in on the fun pretty quickly, again with the exception of Spock. Though in that case, Jim could tell that Spock was holding back in order to lull the Klingons into a false sense of security. They expected for a Vulcan to abstain from physical violence, so Spock played into their expectations. Jim was more than happy to let him because it gave them a very unexpected ace in the hole if things got truly dangerous.

None of the Klingons got physical with Uhura, either. By their rules and culture, getting physical with a woman wasn't sporting or honorable. Uhura, of course, was having none of that shit, and when some poor sap made one too many comments about 'mere' women, Uhura got in his face and started shoving him around the room. The poor guy looked like he didn't know what the hell to do. Especially when Uhura started reading him the riot act in his native language. Jim had no idea what Uhura was saying, of course, but he recognized 'Uhura on a verbal rampage' when he saw and heard it. He had a job of it to not laugh at the poor idiot.

Jim felt just as bad for the poor schmuck who eventually targeted Spock for physical intimidation. Jim could have told them that Spock only played by *some* of the Vulcan rules, but where would the fun have been in that? Spock refused to get physical, but Jim could hear what he was saying to the guy because Spock was sticking as close to Jim as he could in the chaos. It hadn't been pretty. Spock, as Jim had discovered firsthand, was a master at finding someone's weaknesses and using them against that person verbally.

(_)(_)(_)

Starfleet HQ

Being wheelchair bound for the next six months at minimum royally sucked, Pike reflected. Given the other potential options however, he'd take it and be grateful. The worst part of the whole damn thing was that the Admiralty had promoted him.

Yet even that had its bright spots. Especially since he'd been put *on* the Admiralty Board. You couldn't buy better entertainment than watching that bunch of stuffed shirts try to deal with the unpredictable entity that was James T. Kirk. Pike hadn't laughed this much in years.

And to think the whole damn thing had nearly blown up in his face. Though really, he'd deserved it. Pike was just grateful that he'd managed to set things to rights, even if doing so had involved a verbal fight that Pike was pretty sure had come to within a whisker of becoming a physical fight.

In the two and a half years since that fight, Pike had gotten to know the 'real' Jim Kirk - the person behind the masks the kid wore in public. Pike still didn't pretend that he knew Jim well, or could predict his actions. He did, however, have a much better chance at it than pretty much anyone else alive except for maybe McCoy and Uhura. And while he didn't have a father-son sort of relationship with Jim, he had the next best thing, as the only authority figure that Jim actually respected and would even consider listening to and obeying without a fight.

Pike had gambled pretty much everything ever when he'd promoted Jim to second in command when he'd left the Enterprise for the Narada, and he'd known it. But he'd had this itch between his shoulder blades that said they'd need Jim before it was all said and done. Boy had he ever been right.

Pike shook off the memories as he rolled around the last corner before the room where the Admiralty met. They'd be getting the first of the reports of the negotiations with the Klingons today, and Pike had made a point of getting there early. He did *not* want to miss this. He had no idea how things had gone, or what Jim had done, but he was pretty damn sure the answer to the second half of that equation was 'he didn't go by the books' and that was going to give many of the Admirals kittens.

Evidently he wasn't the only one looking forward to the mayhem. Two of the other Admirals, both of whom had consistently been on Jim's side without the air of 'son of a hero and hero in his own right so of course he can do no wrong' that some of the other supporters had, had managed to beat him to the room.

"Pike." One greeted. "Looking forward to today, I take it?"

Pike grinned. "What makes you think that?"

"You've been entirely too smug for words the last couple days." the other Admiral pointed out. "Which tells me that boy of yours is going to be giving us kittens today."

"Not everyone." Pike said. "I think some folks are bright enough to figure out that Jim doesn't do things by the book. But I fully expect Komack to burst a blood vessel before this is over."

That got an amused snort. "It'd be doing us all a favor if he did." The other Admiral said. "Komack's been a pain in the ass from the word go, but he's got too much of a power base to oust him."

Pike snorted. "Give it a year, and I'll bet good money he's out. Either because of health issues from freaking out over what Jim's been up to or because he pulls some stupid-ass stunt that gets him fired."

Pike rolled into the spot that had been set up for him at one end of the half-circle table after that and settled in to wait. The other Admirals came in in ones and twos, finding their places. Caliche arrived, a recorder in hand. That make Pike perk up. He'd expected written reports only.

Caliche looked deeply amused as she settled into place, and Pike envied her the preview of Jim's reports. This was going to be *good*. When the last of the Admirals - Komack, amusingly enough - arrived, Caliche rapped the table in front of her to get everyone's attention.

"We have received Captain Kirk's first reports of his trip to Q'onoS and the beginnings of the negotiations." Caliche said. "He has also sent supporting video logs of three discussions, two with a Klingon frigate captain and one with Chancellor Maktor for reference and analysis."

She tapped a few places on her datapad to transfer electronic copies of the written reports to everyone else's datapads. 

Pike happily read through the first reports, which detailed the meet-up between the Enterprise and the Klingon escort ship. Pike snorted in amusement at the departures from established procedure detailed in those first encounters. There was more than a little grumbling from several quarters, but it wasn't too bad, because while Jim had departed from procedure, it hadn't sounded too bad on 'paper'. Pike knew Jim well enough to know that there was more to the story than what had gotten written down, though, and couldn't wait to see what Jim had left out.

Then Caliche played the video logs that went with the two reports ... and Pike damn near fell out of his wheelchair he got to laughing so hard. Because what Jim had failed to note was the fact that what looked like half the bridge crew were openly carrying weapons of one variety or another when they greeted the Klingon captain.

The outraged shrieks from the 'anti-Kirk' Admirals pretty much made Pike's month. Komack shot to his feet, his face going a rather alarming shade of purple as he bellowed. Pike wasn't quite sure what Komack found the most offensive - that Jim had departed from established procedure, or that it had clearly worked, if the lack of open antagonism on the part of the Klingon captain was anything to go by.

"Is he trying to sabotage the peace process?" One of Komack's few supporters snapped. "Those procedures and regulations exist for a reason!"

"Those procedures and regulations failed." Pike pointed out calmly. "By adhering to them we got ourselves into a war, if a short one, followed by the most frigid, antagonistic so-called 'peace' since the old Cold War between the United States of America and the old Soviet Union back in the 20th century." Pike waved a hand. "Captain Kirk knew that going in. He knew the standard approach wasn't going to work, since it had been tried and failed so spectacularly."

"Clearly that first team was inferior and ... " The other Admiral started.

Pike took great pleasure in shutting him down. "Surely you're not accusing Ambassador Sarek of all people of being inferior and ... " He deliberately let the sentence trail off. Pike was just grateful that Sarek had been called in to deal with the situation at the time. Brokering the tentative peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire had been a then-quite-young Sarek's first triumph in the field of 'exceptionally difficult negotiations'. It had also been the start of his now nearly unassailable reputation as an Ambassador and diplomat.

The other Admiral snapped his mouth shut and his face became quite a study, torn between outrage and burgeoning fear. So the man wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first blush, and knew to be wary of the Ambassador. Even if everyone wasn't already treading very carefully where Vulcans were concerned, badmouthing Sarek or otherwise giving him grief was just this side of suicidal. Doing it now? Yeah, not the brightest idea. 

Sarek had a reputation for not suffering fools and cutting people down to size if they stepped over whatever line Sarek had metaphorically drawn in regards to his tolerance for their behavior. Sometimes he did it in such a way they didn't realize they'd been insulted ten ways to Sunday until months or even years later. Other times, it was pretty much impossible to miss that Sarek thought you were a waste of resources. Pike didn't even want to know how much more vicious Sarek could get in the face of all he and his people had lost.

"As Captain Kirk pointed out, or so I have been told, in the investigation into his actions regarding the Kobayashi Maru scenario, Starship Captains are going to face things for which there are no set rules, regulations, or procedures ... or situations where adhering to said rules, regulation, and procedures would be detrimental to life, limb and a successful mission. The Klingon Empire and its warrior ethos clearly falls into one of those two categories, though which it is remains to be seen. Captain Kirk is merely doing what he can to ensure the success of his mission. No Captain can do any less." Pike said.

He was kind of mad that he'd missed that discussion. While he hadn't known Jim's whole plan, Pike had known that Jim was going to do something in regards to the scenario. Anyone that knew Jim knew he loathed the scenario, and anyone that really knew Jim knew he was not one to suffer in silence. Just Pike's bad luck he'd been trapped in Medical and missed Jim reading the Admiralty the riot act.

There was more than a little grumbling, but eventually Komack and his supporters were silenced and they went through the next report, the first encounter with Maktor and the only one with a video log. Pike was rather disappointed that there wouldn't be more video logs, since the negotiations were taking place on Q'onoS. While the written reports were enough to get folks wound up, Pike knew that *seeing* what Jim was doing would make things a lot more hilarious. The one visual recording of Jim talking to Maktor was enough to set half the Admiralty off again, and make Pike laugh his ass off.

"What in the hell does he think he's doing?" Someone yelped on seeing that little chat. At least this time it was less censorious and more confused to hell and gone.

"Whatever it is, it's working." Another Admiral admitted, sounding reluctantly impressed as he waved a hand at the padd in front of him, indicating the reports Caliche had released for their perusal. "The son of a bitch has gotten them talking to him with this crazy shit, which is more than anyone save Ambassador Sarek has ever managed. At this point, I'm going to have to agree with Pike and say let the crazy bastard do this his way. Do *everything* his way." The man made a horrified face at that. "Because it works. Like hell can I figure out how he does it, but it works. It worked with the Narada and it's working here."

"And when it stops working?" Komack demanded. "Or when he falls apart under the strain? It's not like he has the temperament, maturity, or ability to be a Captain. No one that age does, no matter their circumstances. Kirk's circumstances make him unfit to even wear the uniform, never mind sit in the center seat. He's going to screw up and/or fall apart, and when he does, it's going to cost us more than our flagship and a couple hundred lives we can't afford to lose at this juncture."

Pike glared at Komack. "He's not going to fall apart." He snapped. "What you have consistently failed to realize, Komack, is that James Kirk is one of the toughest sons of bitches alive. We've all seen the report of the injuries he was sporting at the end of the whole Narada mess. How many of *us* would have been alive by the end, never mind conscious and still running around saving the galaxy?" 

That list of abrasions, cuts, bruises, broken bones and other internal damage had horrified Pike when he'd seen it. How the hell Jim had still been standing at the end, he'd never figure out. Pike could see at least half of the other Admirals either nodding or looking like they agreed with him. Oh, they had all worked through injuries in the past. Some of them had even had fairly severe injuries in the line of duty. But insofar as Pike was aware, none of them had been as severely injured as Jim, and unable to hand command over to someone else and go get themselves patched up.

"And he's not mentally or emotionally vulnerable either. I know you think he is, and we all know why you think that." Pike growled. "And you're dead wrong, but I'll never convince you of that, so I won't bother. Jim will set you straight himself. Because he's never going to roll over and die, or call it quits, or even take the easy road. He'll fight as long as there's breath in his body and follow his instincts and convictions to the bitter end no matter what punishment or vitriol anyone piles on his head." Pike snorted. "Will he make mistakes? Yeah, but I dare you to say that no other Captain has ever made a mistake. But Jim won't be making decisions lightly. He knows, better than most of the Captains in the fleet, just how much is riding on his decisions."

That was the blessing and the curse of the whole Tarsus IV fuckup, as far as Pike was concerned. Jim had learned to lead there. He'd learned what the price was for the mistakes he made. Pike knew that Jim would guard his crew's lives like a mythological dragon guarded its gold. He'd feel every loss far more keenly than most Captains ever did. Komack might think that surviving Tarsus had made Jim unfit, but Pike figured it had made Jim uniquely suited to command, if he hadn't been headed that direction already.

Komack gave Pike a dirty look. "You're biased, and that boy is going to drag you down with him. I just hope there's a Starfleet left when he's done fucking up."

Pike just rolled his eyes and didn't bother with any other response.

(_)(_)(_)

Q'onoS

Maktor had been having the time of his life the last couple of days.

Wrangling with the Councilors had lost its charm and excitement factor within a year of his ascendancy to the Chancellorship. His fellows were entirely too predictable. Maktor didn't pretend to be able to control and manipulate them at will, but he could predict who would do or say what, when, and why and be right virtually every time.

Kirk and his crew brought with them a certain level of unpredictability just by not being Klingons. That they all seemed intent on defying every expectation of behavior for their species just added to the fun. Even the thrice-damned Vulcan was atypical for his breed, for Kahless' sake. Oh, he didn't run around with his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn't acting like any Vulcan Maktor had ever met, either.

And that *woman*. Maktor had doubted Kirk's claim that she was the equal of any Klingon woman. Three days of negotiations later, and he no longer doubted it in the least. She was vicious and relentless and if Maktor had been a decade younger, well ... he'd be joining the younger Councilors in the thoughts he knew damn well they were having.

Maktor was pretty sure the woman didn't know how her actions were being perceived. Mostly because she was being verbally vicious with *everyone*. If she'd had a clue as to how Klingon males perceived such behavior in a female, she wouldn't be doing it.

Klingon women were rather ... violent and vicious ... in the expression of their preference for a mate. To Klingon perceptions, the woman was essentially daring the entire Council to prove their worthiness to be her mate. The only reason none of the Councilors hadn't responded to her apparent overtures yet was because she was human, the Councilors were all old enough to have more restraint than Klingon males the woman's age, and she hadn't hit anyone yet. Yet. There had been a time or two when Maktor had thought she would. If she ever did, it was going to be extremely interesting to see if the Councilor she hit responded to it the way they would if a Klingon woman hit them or not. Things would get very interesting no matter how they reacted, really, but Maktor was honest enough with himself to admit that seeing how some of his fellows reacted when they realized they were flirting with a human would be extremely amusing.

The Vulcan and the woman aside, dealing with Kirk was a treat. While Maktor had little doubt that Kirk was deliberately imitating proper Klingon behavior, he could tell that in many respects it was close to how Kirk operated naturally. Kirk was entirely too comfortable with yelling and getting in someone's face for it to be atypical of how he acted normally. Likewise Kirk's refusal to back down from something he truly believed in or had stated was a non-negotiable part of the treaty. Fortunately, there were remarkably few of the latter, and none that would cause serious trouble with the Empire at large. Oh, there would always be those that disagreed and chafed at those restrictions or rules, but not a large enough part of the population to be a concern.

That, however, was the good news. The bad news was that the faction that wanted no part of the Federation was working themselves up to doing something about the situation. Maktor had no idea what they were going to do - there were too many unknown factors to work with - but he knew his Councilors well enough to know when they were up to no good.

Interestingly, Maktor had seen both Kirk and the woman eyeballing the soon-to-be troublemakers more and more frequently over the last few days. He hadn't a clue how they knew to keep an eye on that lot, but they'd figured it out somehow. It only remained to see who would do what and when. Whatever it was, it was going to be soon. If they maintained the pace they'd held to the last few days, the treaty would be ready to be signed in another two days at most. Maktor had a feeling that whatever it was would happen tonight - they'd not take the risk that the treaty would be finished early.

Maktor got to his feet. They'd agreed to a break in the negotiations for lunch, which they would be taking in the Great Hall's feasting room, same as had happened for all the meals in the last few days. Maktor had taken the lead out of the treaty room with his second-in-command, Kirk and the Vulcan hot on his heels. He barely passed the doorframe when all hell broke loose behind him.

(_)(_)(_)

Despite all the yelling, shoving and almost-fights of the last three days, the negotiations for the Empire joining the Federation had gone extremely well, Jim thought. There had been a few sticky spots, but remarkably few for how strained things had been between the Empire and the Federation for the last fifty years or so.

Uhura, Sulu and Chekov had been having a ball with the whole thing. Scotty was only slightly less enthusiastic at finding an outlet for his natural Scots exuberance. Even Bones had been having more fun than he'd ever admit to, having a legitimate target for his verbal harangues.

Both he and Uhura had identified a few troublemakers in the Council. Jim had figured out one of them on his own thanks to the blatant, hateful glares and actively antagonistic and accusative language the guy leveled at Jim and his command crew. The other two that Uhura had pegged were more subtle, but not subtle enough to evade her eagle eye.

That unholy triad had been getting more and more wound up as the negotiation process ground on to a successful conclusion. Jim knew that they were going to try something sooner or later if they intended to keep the Empire out of the Federation. It was just a matter of what they'd do and when.

The minute he'd walked into the treaty room this morning, Jim had known that today would be the day they made their move. The air of tense anticipation the three wore like cloaks was rather obvious. Jim had shot his command crew a look, and gotten nods from everyone. They would be on their toes.

Despite the tension from the three and the command crew's careful watch on them, they had quite a successful morning. Eventually, it was agreed to break for lunch.

Jim and Spock, acting like today was the same as the last few, immediately got up and followed Maktor and his second towards the door. Unlike other days, however, the rest of the command crew didn't intermingle with the Council. instead they arranged it so that they would be in a group behind the troublemakers and with the rest of the Council behind them. From there they would be able to attack the troublemakers from behind if necessary and would be able to cut off any attempts at assistance for the triad from the other Councilors.

Jim had to admit the three troublemakers chose their moment well. They waited until Jim and Spock were in the door, where they were in close quarters and wouldn't have as much room to defend themselves without getting in each other's way. Better yet, Maktor was out of the room, if only barely, and thus at least theoretically out of the line of fire.

The only warning they got was the faint sound a knife made being drawn from its sheath. Both Jim and Spock whirled on their heels, Jim yanking the knife he'd been toting for the last few days out of its sheath as he turned.

Jim had talked to Spock, and eventually convinced him that if things ever devolved to a fight, for Spock to actually fight rather than just nerve-pinching anyone that got in range. The Klingons would be expecting that, and would treat it with disdain and distaste, since it smacked of cowardice and avoiding a fight to their perceptions. Spock had thought it was highly illogical, but had eventually agreed to play things Jim's way since Jim had been having so much success with the Klingons by following a similarly highly illogical thought process.

Jim parried the initial knife-thrust as he turned, jumping back slightly to make sure he was completely out of range of the strike. Then he surged forward, aiming a punch at his attacker's midsection and a fairly weak-looking spot in the armor. At the same time he took a swipe at the guy's knife arm with his own knife. Jim didn't want to, and didn't plan on killing any of the Councilors. That would just cause all kinds of trouble and probably derail the negotiations, allowing the attackers to win by default even if they were all killed. That said, Jim had no compunctions about ventilating the idiots in non-lethal ways.

Jim was dimly aware of the rest of his command crew throwing themselves into action, forcing the rest of the Council back and out of the fight whether they wanted to be in on it or not. He was vaguely aware of Sulu joining the fight to even the odds, and of Maktor and his second somewhere behind him, watching but not interfering.

He was not-so-vaguely aware of Spock.

The part of his mind not currently devoted to kicking Klingon ass noted that he was dancing around Spock and aware of Spock on a level that was usually reserved for people who'd been fighting together for a *really* long time. They never once got in each other's way, unlike himself and Sulu, or Spock and Sulu. Both of those combinations had at least one accidentally interfering encounter each during the fight. That part of his mind also pointed out that the phenomenon was very familiar. Just like when they'd boarded the Narada. It also made a rather insistent point about asking Spock about it later.

The rest of him was very busy with punching, slashing, and blocking punches and slashes. He was just relieved that this fight was a lot more equal than his attempts against Spock and the Romulans had been. Klingons were sturdier and stronger than humans, but not to the level that Vulcans and Romulans were. A clever fighter, of which Jim was definitely one, could equalize the fight when facing a Klingon.

In Jim's case, that mostly meant being faster on his feet and more agile than his opponent. Klingons were strong, but they sacrificed speed and agility, both by concentrating on being physically stronger, and thanks to the armor they wore, which tended to restrict their movement somewhat. That allowed Jim to dart in with a punch or a slash, then dance backward out of range of retaliation. That this mode of fighting was pissing his opponent right the heck off and inciting him to more and more angry and reckless behavior in his attempts to take Jim down was even better. If Jim had possessed a better understanding of what buttons to push, he'dve added verbal taunting to the mix too, just to egg the guy into even bigger mistakes.

Spock got his guy down and out of the fight first. Jim had been expecting that, with his strength and speed and his knowledge of just how hard Spock could hit when he wanted to. Weirdly, despite Spock being out of the fight, Jim didn't stop being aware of where he was at and what he was doing. The guy Spock had taken down looked, when Jim managed a glance that way, like he was seriously considering suicide because he'd been beaten up by a peace-loving Vulcan. A peace-loving Vulcan who'd gotten out of the fight without so much as a scratch, if Jim's glimpses of Spock were accurate.

Sulu finished second, having utterly humiliated his opponent. The guy was nearly naked because Sulu had hacked off most of the guy's armor and clothes in the process of the fight. The guy also had all sorts of shallow cuts all over him from Sulu's sword. Sulu hadn't gotten out of the fight scot-free like Spock had, but he only had bruises and a few minor cuts.

It took Jim a few more minutes to finish dealing with the guy he'd been facing off with, but eventually the guy collapsed on the floor, his knife halfway across the room, bleeding profusely from the numerous cuts Jim had inflicted. Jim sheathed his knife, then grabbed the Klingon he'd faced off against by the chin, forcing him to look Jim in the eye.

"I'm not going to kill you. Any of you. The three of you are going to live. You're going to be an object lesson to anyone else that thinks the way you do. The Federation and humans don't generally kill their enemies or fight to the death, this is true. This does not make us weak. We discovered a long time ago that embarrassment and humiliation were far stronger deterrents than martyrdom or genocide. Because others will see our defeated enemies, unable to stand against us, forced to submit to our will, and know *this could be them* if they attempt to rise up against us. Most beings do not desire to live as humiliating object lessons, so they don't try the Federation's resolve."

And that was so much bullshit it was almost painful, but the sooner Jim sold that particular perception to the troublemakers in the Empire, the better. Their warrior ethos would not allow them to contemplate life as subjugated 'object lessons' and the fear of that fate might just stay their hands more effectively than the idea of dying for their cause. With luck, by the time Klingons like these three figured out Jim was blowing smoke up their asses, they'd have adjusted to life in the Federation and not be interested in fomenting rebellion.

Jim let the guy's chin go, then gave his shoulders a twitch. He nodded his thanks to his command crew, then jerked his head, indicating for them to come over by him. He turned then to face Maktor, one eyebrow raised challengingly.

(_)(_)(_)

Maktor had managed to straighten his expression so by the time Kirk looked at him thankfully. He'd been far too entertained by the fight, and its results. He wasn't willing to give Kirk that much ammunition in the negotiations.

"Chancellor. I do hope this ... contretemps ... will not stymie the negotiations?" Kirk asked.

From her place at his left shoulder, the woman translated for him.

Maktor gave him a toothy grin. [[No, Captain Kirk, it will not.]] He said. He jerked his head at his own second in command. [[Take that trash out, and see to their replacement.]]

None of the Houses would allow those three to remain Councilors after this, especially not their own. It was a circumstance that suited Maktor well. Those three had been thorns in his side since his assumption of the Chancellorship, always agitating for war and conquest, even when such courses of action were unwise to pursue. Maybe their replacements would be a bit more tolerant, or at least more cowable, given the circumstances of their assumption of their seats.

His second immediately moved to grab one of the three by the collar, and deputized two other Councilors to assist him in dragging the disgraced Councilors out of the room.


	13. Negotiations, Part 3

Negotiations, Part 3

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]] 

(_)(_)(_)

Q'onoS

It wasn't until Maktor had the triad of attackers carted out that Jim relaxed at all, and even then he only relaxed marginally. He automatically glanced over at the rest of the command crew to make sure they were ok. Spock and Sulu he knew were fine, if a bit banged up in Sulu's case. No one had been obviously bleeding or the like the first time he'd glanced their way, but that didn't mean they weren't hurt.

Uhura, Scotty, Bones and Chekov were spread out in an arc, still facing off with the rest of the Councilors. It was more than slightly amusing to Jim to see that both Uhura and Chekov, despite being female and very, very young respectively, were managing to stand the Klingons off as well as Bones and Scotty were. He scowled a bit when he noticed that Chekov's knuckles looked raw, like he'd had to punch someone to enforce the whole 'stay the hell out of this' thing. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell who it was Chekov had punched. There was no blood flowing, or obvious bruises, and while Chekov was giving the Klingons closest to him a poisonous glare, Jim couldn't tell if it was aimed at anyone in particular. Well, he'd find out from Chekov later.

And now that he wasn't high on adrenaline - again - his own injuries were making themselves known. Thank goodness, this time it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it had been at the end of the Narada snafu. From the feel of things, he had several bruises and cuts. His knuckles were, of course, scraped raw, sore as hell and bleeding, but didn't seem to be broken. Provided he could evade Bones' hypos - an unlikely proposition - he'd be sore as hell for a few days but otherwise fine. With the aid of Bones' hypos, he'd be fine in a matter of hours.

Having assured himself that his command crew was in one piece, Jim focused his attention on Maktor.

"There will always be those that are afraid of change." Jim said. "Who find comfort in the way things are and would not see it change. And not just among your own people, but among mine as well." Jim gave Maktor a crooked smile. "It is the challenge of men like ourselves to pursue altered paths, to forge new and better futures for our peoples despite the resistance provided by such fearful folk." Jim shot Maktor a distinctly challenging look. "I have no intentions of faltering in the face of opposition."

Unvoiced, but clearly heard and understood by pretty much everyone was the 'Surely you're not going to falter either?' challenge Jim was throwing down like a gauntlet between them. Uhura translated, as she had for the last few days. Jim could tell she wasn't entirely happy with him for pulling that stunt, though. Jim didn't much blame her - on the surface, it was a rather insane move.

For several long moments - more than long enough to make Jim sweat a little, afraid he'd missed his mark, there was total silence in the room. Then, Maktor shot Jim a fangy grin, threw his head back, and started laughing uproariously. It took him a minute to calm down, and by then Jim was grinning in response to Maktor's hilarity despite himself.

[[Did I not know better, Captain Kirk, I would think you a son of the Empire.]] Maktor growled, sounding distinctly approving, even without Uhura's translation and opinion on his mood.

Jim decided to take that as the compliment it was clearly meant to be.

Maktor clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock Jim. [[Come, let us dine. And I would hear the tale of how you defeated that ship.]] Maktor shot a look at the remnants of the Council. [[I think most of us have been wanting to hear that tale.]]

That got immediate agreement and more than one eager look from the Councilors. Jim grinned. "It would be my pleasure, Chancellor."

(_)(_)(_)

One of these days, Nyota was going to kick Jim's ass for pulling one of his dumb-ass stunts. It wouldn't even matter that said stunts invariably *worked*. They still scared the hell out of her. Hell, it wouldn't matter that she'd agreed to play things Jim's way, for that matter. Agreeing to it was one thing. Living through it was something else entirely.

This whole thing with the Klingons being a massive case in point. She'd agreed wholeheartedly with Jim's scheme to deal with them when they'd worked out what to do and how on the way here. They'd even agreed on how to handle the inevitable challenge to the peace process that they'd all known someone would pull.

Which had not in any way made facing down a roomful of Klingons, trying to keep them out of a fight some of their fellows had started, any easier. Then having to translate Jim's outright challenge not just to Maktor but to every Klingon still in the room? Nyota didn't think her heartrate was going to drop back down to normal for a bit, even if she'd made a point of not showing how nervous she was.

She was just grateful that she hadn't had to get violent with any of the Klingons. She'd noticed the way most of the younger ones were eyeing her over the last few days. It had surprised her because while she knew she was good looking, and was used to getting looks from guys ... the guys were at least part-human, or from a species that was close to humans in appearance, like Vulcans. Being part-human or very close in appearance meant those species and people generally approved of at least some portion of the human appearance. Nyota didn't generally get lustful looks from the species with big differences from human appearance because most of those species found humans less than appealing.

Klingons were definitely in the 'different enough to find humans less than appealing' category. Having the Councilors eyeing her like they wanted to drag her off to a bedroom somewhere had been slightly unnerving. Mostly because she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing that was turning their thoughts that direction. Oh, she could guess ... and had, for that matter ... but she wasn't entirely sure, and wasn't about to ask. She was, however, pretty sure that getting physically violent with a Councilor would have ... brought the issue to a boil, as it were. Something Nyota was eager to avoid, at least until the treaty was signed, since there was a possibility that such an incident could derail things.

(_)(_)(_)

Hikaru Sulu, despite the situation having calmed down, still held his collapsible sword at the ready, giving the Klingons a toothy grin.

He'd have come to Kirk and Spock's defense even if Kirk hadn't planned for him to do so. Hikaru had never been one to approve of uneven odds in a fight. It had never mattered if the inequality was in numbers or skill, or both.

Hikaru's parents, despite their mixed ancestry - between them, they'd had all the old major Asian peoples represented, though his father being half Japanese and his mother being quarter Japanese had tipped things in favor of that genetically - had been traditionalists. They'd made a point of exposing their son to the traditions, beliefs, and so on of pre- World War Three Far East peoples. This had included an early exposure to martial arts. Hikaru'd been started on the basics as soon as he could stand and walk reliably without falling over.

But because his parents were traditionalists, it hadn't just been the moves that Hikaru had been taught. He'd also been exposed to the spiritual side of martial arts. And while he hadn't taken some of it seriously, some parts of it had struck a chord with him and he'd incorporated it into his own personal beliefs.

Hikaru'd done well enough with the basics of martial arts as a kid, but it hadn't been until he'd advanced enough to begin working with weapons that he'd found the niche that worked best for him. He was, and would remain, a fair hand at defending himself without a weapon, but put a sword in his hand and it was an entirely different affair.

Hikaru's training with swords went a far sight beyond mere 'fencing', of course, but he generally reduced it to that when asked about his combat proficiency, because most people these days neither knew nor cared about more than that, if they knew about weapons other than phasers at all, that was. The martial arts that focused on bladed weapons were either dead or dying arts - it had taken his parents the better part of a year to find someone with any proficiency in those arts when he'd gotten to that level.

At any rate, the point was that thanks in large part to that training and exposure to old traditions and beliefs, bullies and unequal odds rubbed Hikaru the wrong way. Which meant he'd have helped Kirk and Spock regardless of whether they'd planned on it or not.

The fight, brief as it was, had been the most fun Hikaru'd had in ages. Klingons, unlike most humans and other species, had a thing for using blades in fights. Their style wasn't like anything Hikaru had ever encountered, but that had hardly mattered. It had just been a pleasure to cross blades with someone who knew what the hell they were doing when fighting with a blade of any description. The Klingon he'd tangled with had seemed both surprised and pleased to be up against a human that knew what the hell he was doing in such a fight. From the looks most of the rest of the Councilors were giving him, Hikaru suspected they were all thinking much the same thing.

Not for the first time, Hikaru wondered if he could possibly wrangle a look at, or better yet a demonstration of, a bat'leth. After this incident, he had probably improved his chances.

(_)(_)(_)

Pavel Chekov had been fully expecting someone to try to kick his ass, at some point. He was young, fairly short, and generally very non threatening in appearance, which made even fellow humans think he was an easy target. For a Klingon, Pavel figured that he was all but literally asking for an ass-kicking.

But a childhood as a prodigy had taught Pavel far more than was ever taught in a classroom. He'd learned young to stand up for himself, and had made a point of learning to fight, because as much as humankind had changed over the years, some things remained the same. Social ostracization and bullying of folks that didn't fit the general mold being one of the things that didn't change.

Pavel had taken it all as a challenge. He'd learned to defend himself, both physically and by other means. Hence his tendency to troll the hell out of everyone in his vicinity given the slightest excuse or opportunity. Up to and including playing up the 'young and helpless' thing. It tended to lull people into a false sense of security.

A sense that evidently Klingons were as prone to falling for as humans were, because where most of the Councilors had hesitated to physically or verbally confront Uhura, McCoy, and Scott, the same had not been true for Pavel. One of the Councilors had lost no time getting in his face and trying to scare him into backing off. It had taken a few punches to convince the guy that Pavel was not the easy target the Councilor thought he was. Fortunately, for whatever reason, the scuffle hadn't devolved into an all-out fight. Pavel was reasonably certain of his ability to fight back and win against the average, non-combat-trained human, but anything beyond that, human or otherwise, was another matter. And Klingons definitely qualified for the 'beyond that' category.

It took a minute after Kirk got done talking with Maktor before everyone relaxed enough to actually leave the room without starting another fight. As they filed out, Pavel passed McCoy. He couldn't quite stop himself from jumping when McCoy nailed him with a hypo. Probably something to prevent infection, dull pain or the like, but Pavel hadn't been expecting it. He shot McCoy a glare, and got an equally disgruntled glare in return. Behind them, one of the Klingons made an amused sounding noise. Apparently he'd been in position to catch the hypo'ing and Pavel's reaction to it.

(_)(_)(_)

Son of the Empire indeed, Maktor thought. James Kirk was ... quite the human. Oh, Maktor had little doubt that some of his people would have taken offense at Kirk's little gambit, but Maktor had honestly been amused by the man's boldness. There were remarkably few Klingons, never mind members of other species, who would openly challenge the entire Council and accuse them of cowardice if they failed to rise to that challenge in the same breath.

And while there were those who'd take offense ... most of the ones that would were now no longer on the Council, thanks to Kirk. One or two remained, but with their numbers and support for their cause cut in half, they would hesitate to act. By the time they got their feet back under them, the alliance would be signed and sealed and there would be little they could do about it. 

Oh, some would attempt to rebel, but thanks to the Narada, the means by which they would have done so no longer existed. Warriors and warships were thin on the ground and would remain that way for some time to come. By the time such assets were once again available, the objectors would hopefully find no support for their cause among their fellows, and remain powerless individuals scattered here and there. They'd still cause trouble, but nothing anywhere near the sort of trouble they'd have been able to cause under better circumstances.

The rest of the Council were sure enough in their honor and courage to rise to the challenge Kirk flung at them, rather than falter and turn away from it.

Maktor was just pleased he'd had the opportunity to ask for the tale of the defeat of the Narada. Oh, they'd all heard the rumors. But rumors were just that. They might hold some portion of the truth, but there was no way of knowing for sure unless you spoke to the person who'd lived the tale.

He wasn't the only one looking forward to this, if the expression on several Councilors' faces was anything to go by. Amusingly, there was a bit of jockeying amongst them. A renegotiation of who was willing to sit by whom without rancor in order to be close enough to hear the tale clearly. It resulted in the Councilors actually sitting amongst the Enterprise's crew for the first time, rather than all of the Councilors being at one end of the table and the Enterprise crew at the other.

(_)(_)(_)

Bones hated this shit. He hated violence in any form, which predisposed him to be rather disapproving of Klingons in general. An entire species that was damnfool enough to get in brawls at the drop of a hat ... there wasn't much worse, in Bones' eyes. It really didn't help that he knew damn well that Jim would bear the brunt of that violent tendency sooner rather than later. He'd just gotten the idiot back on his feet after the Narada mess, he didn't need Jim getting broken into pieces again so soon.

He'd made sure to have his hypo on him, along with quite a range of ampoules. Most of them were pain relievers, or meant to keep infection at bay or otherwise aid in healing, but Bones had included a few ampoules that the Klingons would not like having applied to them.

Bones might not like violence, but he wasn't damn fool enough to not defend himself or his crew if it became necessary. He was even nice enough to pick something that would only knock them unconscious, rather than something that would actually make them sick, if he had to hypo someone into submission.

He might not have been quite as observant as Jim and Nyota when it came to the atmosphere in the peace talks, but Jim had made a point to warn everyone that things were likely to blow up today or tomorrow at the latest. Bones kept an eye on Jim today, and Jim flashed a 'trouble incoming' look at everyone early in the day. Bones had immediately, if quietly, armed his hypo accordingly.

Fortunately, he hadn't had to resort to hypoing over aggressive Klingons. Bones had been quick to switch out to ampoules to heal the crew who'd actually tangled with one, and managed to nail Chekov almost immediately. He managed to sidle up to Sulu about halfway to the feast hall, and hit him with a hypo as well.

Jim, blast him, and that green-blooded elf were both too far ahead and too close to Maktor for Bones to manage to hypo either of them at the moment. He'd get them later. Jim especially. He wouldn't put it past the brat to try to avoid his just desserts, but Bones wasn't going to let him get away with that.

(_)(_)(_)

It had happened again. That odd synchronicity. The occurrence had brought with it the memory of the minutes aboard the Narada. It had also reminded Spock of his knowledge that Jim was in dire straits before anyone else realized it when they'd returned to the Enterprise.

Along with the memory of that, came the memory of an accidental bond, and his intention to seek his father out and have the bond removed, as it had not been formed with Jim's knowledge and consent. It disturbed Spock not a little that he had not only not gotten the matter taken care of ... he had *forgotten* about it.

Vulcans did not forget about things except for under certain rare circumstances. Those in the latter stages of Bendii Syndrome or one of the other rare diseases that ravaged the mind frequently suffered from memory problems. Similarly, a male in certain stages of Pon Farr would be prone to not remembering things, as their minds were consumed with one matter only, and all else was ignored. The only other time memory loss happened to Vulcans was when they suffered traumatic head injuries. 

While Spock's human heritage did introduce the possibility of forgetting things as humans were prone to, he had not observed that tendency in himself until now. Spock supposed that the circumstances under which he had forgotten were sufficient. The mental stressors he and every other Vulcan had been subjected to in the immediate aftermath of Vulcan's destruction were definitely enough to make mincemeat of even the most disciplined mind. 

Still, it disturbed Spock greatly that it had occurred, and he made due mental note to confer with his father as soon as they returned to the ship. He also made due mental note to speak to Jim of the matter as well. That was likely to be a highly uncomfortable conversation, but it had to be done. Hopefully, Jim would be inclined to forgive Spock his lapse.

That matter aside, Spock was forced to admit that Jim's plan had succeeded. The Klingons had, until now, watched Spock with visible disdain. Even those with whom Spock had verbally argued still seemed contemptuous of him. In the wake of the fight, however brief it might have been, this was no longer the case.

Spock was somewhat surprised that Sarek had not attempted such a gambit when he had been negotiating the treaty that had resulted in the Neutral Zone. Sarek had, after all, proved to be remarkably flexible in his approach to diplomacy. Spock decided after a few moments' reflection that it was possible this approach just hadn't occurred to Sarek, as that particular negotiation had occurred very early in Sarek's diplomatic career. Either that or he was unable to employ the tactic for one reason or another. Certainly a relatively junior diplomat on his first solo assignment would not have had the clout to do as they pleased rather than as they were ordered. 

As a Vulcan, it would not have occurred to Sarek to go against such orders, either. At least not then. Such defiance had not become a part of Sarek's nature until a bit later in his life, when Sarek broke his bond with his first wife. To this day, Sarek refused to speak of her. For that matter, Sarek's first wife seemed to be a forbidden subject for the entire clan. As a result Spock had no idea of the circumstances surrounding the dissolution of their bond and marriage. Whatever had happened, it had to have been huge. Divorce was all but unheard of on Vulcan due to Pon Farr. It took pretty extreme circumstances for Vulcan men to be willing to risk being alone when their Time came.

Spock was curious to see how Jim would spin the tale of their defeat of the Narada and Nero. As with the Admiralty, there were portions of the tale that the Klingons most emphatically did not need to know. Portions of the tale that were unfortunately very important to the tale. Spock had no doubt that Jim would be able to alter or omit those parts of the story, but it would be intriguing to discover how he went about it.

(_)(_)(_)

Jim was a little stunned at the wildly altered atmosphere at this meal. The others had all been ... tensely polite was the best way to put it, he supposed. They got along, nobody said or did anything irredeemably stupid or rude, but that was the best that could be said for them.

This meal ... well. It was as if the fight, brief as it had been, had broken through some unseen barrier to acceptance. First and foremost, the Councilors had actually deigned to sit among the Enterprise command crew for the first time. And while the Councilors had proven to be rowdy even (or perhaps especially) at mealtimes, they now included the Enterprise command crew in their effusiveness, rather than concentrating almost entirely on their fellow Councilors. 

Jim could see two Councilors in earnest, arm-waving conversation with an equally emphatic Sulu. Scotty was holding court with another Councilor, and Chekov was literally bouncing in his seat as he talked to a fourth Councilor. The real miracle was the fact that two Councilors were talking to Spock, evidently inquiring about Spock's combat training, if the gestures were anything to go by. Even Bones was chatting with one of the Councilors. 

In point of fact, only Maktor and his second were not engaged in conversation with Jim or his crew. Maktor had retained his spot at the far end of the table. Jim had a feeling that had more to do with the fact that he could only sit there than with Maktor not wanting to get chummy with Jim or one of the others. His second had been deprived of a chance to engage one of them due to having to 'take out the trash' and arriving at the feast hall after everyone else.

The only member of his crew that Jim was worried about was Uhura. This despite knowing she'd kick his ass for wanting to protect her, and that she was fully capable of defending herself if required. Still, he'd seen the way some of the Councilors had been eyeing her, so he was keeping an eye on the Councilor who'd engaged her in conversation. He wasn't about to let these guys get fresh or worse. At least, not if Uhura didn't want them to, anyway. Which, given she was with Spock, he seriously doubted she was interested. 

That said, Jim was a little worried about their relationship based on what little he'd seen of how they interacted. Academically, he knew that it was fairly common for relationships to collapse under the strain of traumatic events, and that it might be happening with Uhura and Spock. Non-academically, he really didn't want to see either of them get hurt. Spock could ill afford more trauma, and Uhura was a good friend. Unfortunately there was little to nothing he could do about it.

Eventually, the meal itself ended, and the chatter died down. Attention started turning Jim's way. He was highly amused at how eager most of the Councilors looked to get a chance at finding out what had happened with the Narada.

Not that Jim would be telling the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. If he hadn't told *Pike* the whole truth, he wasn't going to tell it to anyone else. Unfortunately, just editing out the bits as regarded the old guy wasn't going to work too well with this audience. Jim knew enough to know that further editing would be required. Fortunately, he'd had four days to figure out how to go about that editing.

He got to his feet, the better to pace and gesture. He'dve had a tendency towards that sort of thing even telling to story to Vulcans - but he planned to let his theatrical side have a little more fun than usual today. Everything he'd seen with the Klingons said they'd appreciate it.

He eliminated all mention of what they'd been doing when Vulcan's distress call had gone out. He also eliminated the whole deal with him being on suspension and smuggled aboard the Enterprise. Instead, he had it as him having been on the ship as a normal crewman. He also eliminated the part where he'd been suffering from allergic reactions and had been getting hypo'd every five seconds. He sincerely doubted a medically-disinclined society would appreciate that bit.

Pike ... was not going to thank him for the next bit, but it was a necessary evil. One, Jim had honestly been exasperated with the whole 'let's give the crazy what he wants' thing. Two, Jim was leery of losing what little progress had been made today in Klingon-Vulcan relations by admitting that he and Spock had been on opposite sides of the fence as regarded dealing with the Narada and Nero.

So it was that Jim wove a carefully constructed, mostly false tale of the events from when he'd realized they were in trouble on.

According to Jim, Pike had wanted to give up to Nero, and been forcibly dissuaded. The false attempt had been used to auto-pilot a shuttle across and allow for the destruction of the drill. That event happened exactly as it actually had.

From there, it was Pike, not Spock, who was the source of all the trouble, eventually resulting in Jim forcing a step-down and taking control. Nor did he, at any point, reveal what, exactly, Nero had been using to destroy planets. He just made it very, very clear that it, along with the Narada, had gotten blown right the hell up. Thankfully, that was the truth, however much a few truly insane idiots might wish otherwise. Jim hadn't actually heard anyone saying anything to that effect, but he was nowhere near naive enough to think there wasn't some nutball somewhere who was thinking it, or worse actually saying it.

At least he'd done Pike one favor, and didn't have him getting taken hostage. Jim had read enough to know exactly what Klingons thought of that sort of thing. Being a bit of a coward and getting replaced the hard way was one thing. Being captured and not fighting your way free or killing yourself was something else entirely. Klingons didn't even have a concept for willingly handing yourself over as a hostage the way Pike had, and they'd be horrified by it.

Jim also cut out the entire side-trip to Delta Vega. As much fun as it had been (NOT), there was just too much that had happened there that would have to be talked around. Better to skip it entirely and let the Klingons assume Scotty had been there from the start.

Jim told the whole thing with a bit more than his usual energy and theatrics, yelling and jumping around and waving his arms. He even pantomimed some of the better bits, like the mad scramble he and Spock had faced in the first moments aboard the Narada, and most of his confrontation with Nero and the other Romulan.

"So the Narada was caught in a black hole, right?" Jim said as he finished the tale. "And there was no way, really, to do ... well, anything, even if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't, but I knew that certain elements back home would need to be pacified. So appearing to show some shred of mercy would look good. Even if anyone with sense would know it was anything but. So I tell him to give up and we'll help him. Nero is all 'I'd rather die ten thousand times, watch Romulus die ten thousand times than let you help me.' So I was able to go 'Really? Ok then - blow his shit up.' And Chekov over there did exactly that." He waved a hand in Chekov's direction.

"Well, at that point, we kind of had a problem, because the black hole was sucking us in." Jim said. "And even the engines at full warp were doing not a damn thing. The ship was literally starting to crack apart on us." Jim said, waving a hand, eyes wide. "And Scott over there was like 'hey, I think if we eject the warp cores and blow them we can get clear' and I was like 'well, it's better than nothing. Do it'. Only a lot less calmly than that, to be honest." He grinned. "We did, and it worked. Blew us clear of the black hole. Shook the ship pretty bad, but we got out and that's really all that mattered."

Jim had been careful, throughout the tale, to highlight his command crew's moments of badassery, whether physical or not. Like Uhura being the only one who could tell Vulcan and Romulan apart, never mind being able to tell the difference between Romulan dialects. Not to mention the fact that she had been temporarily in command of the ship at one point. Sulu's badassery on the drill, though he had regretfully not included the fall and Chekov's moment with the transporters. He hadn't been sure how that would be received. Though he had made sure to tell of Chekov shooting down the Narada's torpedoes while a shuttlecraft full of high explosives was auto piloted right into the Narada's maw. The shuttle obviously being a replacement for the old man's ship and the red matter. Spock rescuing the Vulcan leadership single handed got told too. He'd even risked telling about Bones taking over Sickbay, since it had been his skill that had kept folks alive and fighting, including himself.

Throughout the story, the Councilors had been an avid, eager audience. They'd cheered, booed and heckled (or the Klingon equivalents) at all the right spots. Better, Jim had seen them shooting the Enterprise command crew increasingly respectful looks as the story went on. Now, as Jim finally wrapped the story and grabbed a tankard to wet his mouth after talking so long, they were cheering again.

When they finally calmed down, Maktor raised a tankard. [[A mighty battle, and a well-told tale, Captain Kirk.]] He said. [[My congratulations on defeating that mad Romulan.]]

Jim was a little stunned when the tankard salute was repeated around the room with every evidence of honest agreement. Then again, he supposed that they would appreciate the defeat of the Narada regardless of the source of that defeat, given the damage Nero had done to the Klingon fleet.


	14. Negotiations, Part 4

Negotiations, Part 3

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]] 

(_)(_)(_)

It wasn't until after the toast that Jim (admittedly somewhat belatedly) figured out another reason as to why the Councilors had been so appreciative of the tale of the Narada's defeat. It sounded silly after the fact but he'd been so busy trying to anticipate Klingon reactions and tailor his responses accordingly during the treaty negotiations that he hadn't correlated certain facts. Namely, that the Councilors were all either Heads of families, or the Head's chosen representative. Which meant every last one of them had suffered who-knew-how-many losses when the Klingon fleet got wiped out.

Jim figured that out after the toast because the Councilors had started to mingle with the crew. Which meant they'd started talking to Jim and the others about more than the treaty. After the toast, more than one Councilor had drifted Jim's way to thank him personally for avenging the death of their family members.

Which led to the realization, as they headed back to the treaty room for the last of the negotiating, of why the Klingons had insisted on Jim and the Enterprise for this. Oh, a good part of it had, yes, been that the Enterprise had been the ones to beat the Narada's ass. But Jim had a feeling that the rest of the reason had to do with him specifically. Because through what Jim knew of the lens of Klingon culture, it looked a whole hell of a lot like Jim had kicked the Narada's ass to avenge his father's death. Avenging the death of a family member was practically a pastime for Klingons.

It wasn't the truth, of course. Oh, Jim had had vengeance on his mind a bit, but more for himself than his father. That, however, hadn't been anywhere close to his primary consideration for kicking the Narada's ass. He'd been more worried about the billions of lives on Vulcan and then Earth - and after that who knew how many planets if Nero had continued his rampage unopposed. But he could see where Klingons might make that assumption.

Humans did not generally indulge in the sort of vengeful vendettas that hunting down the Narada and destroying it would have involved. Klingons would know that, if not much else. From their point of view, the utter coincidence that had been Jim's presence on the Enterprise when it went to face the Narada, and Jim's following actions were out of character for humans. From the Klingon cultural lens, it had to have looked ... rather familiar. Klingon-ish. Which had probably inclined them to hope that Jim possessed more than just that one streak of Klingon-esque behavior.

Hilariously enough, despite the erroneous assumptions that led them to that conclusion, the Klingons had been more right than they knew. Jim didn't agree with certain aspects of Klingon culture and beliefs, but he definitely agreed with more of them than the average human. He was comfortable with the loud, boisterous affect most Klingons possessed as well. It had made him uniquely suited to act as ambassador, even without the 'fuck the rules and do what works' that Jim had been employing with abandon during the negotiations.

Rather unsurprisingly, weathering the attack from the malcontents seemed to have been the final test barrier to the peace process. The last few details for the treaty were agreed upon to the satisfaction of both parties before dinnertime. Jim couldn't quite restrain a grin as Maktor signed the papers. Literally. There was an electronic copy of what they'd agreed on, of course, but acting on another of his hunches, Jim had decided to print out a copy for both sides to actually, literally sign. 

Written-on-actual-paper *anything* was almost unheard of among spacegoing peoples. Virtually everything was done on computer aboard a ship. Paper copies became extremely impractical when you had to physically ship the paperwork back to your home world, versus sending a nearly instantaneous computer file. Likewise, writing a physical copy as well as a digital one got phased out pretty damn fast because of space and storage issues aboard a ship. It was only a matter of time from there before physical copies got phased out of a society completely. Of course the time it took to reach a wholly digital era varied by culture, but it would still eventually happen.

Heck, books, the last thing to have gone fully computerized on Earth, had gone that way shortly after the war with the Klingons ended. But Jim had had a hunch that the Klingons would appreciate a physical paper copy of the treaty. That was something that couldn't be altered after the fact - or not easily anyway - that they could check the computer version against in the future. It was solid and real compared to a few bytes of information and an electronic signature, which would lend it gravity and importance it otherwise might not get.

[[How long will you be permitted to remain?]] Maktor wanted to know once they'd signed the thing.

"We were given a month to work on this." Jim said. "And while we've gotten this figured out a lot faster than my superiors figured on, they won't pull us out immediately." 

And even if they tried, Jim would refuse. It would look entirely too much like he and the Enterprise couldn't wait to get the heck out of there if they left right away.

"They probably won't have any idea of where they're going to send us next before the end of the week." Jim said. "And I could probably very easily argue them into letting us stay for the full month they'd planned on. Why do you ask?"

[[I thought you and your crew might enjoy more time among us. A tour of our Academy, perhaps?]] Maktor offered.

Whoah.

Jim did not mistake that for a casual, offhand offer. Maktor was up to something. Possibly wanting to see how Starfleet graduates stacked up compared to Klingon ones? Maybe. Or, maybe he was hoping some young, dumb Klingon would challenge one of the Enterprise crew. Having some of the up and coming graduates see human badassery in action with their own eyes was likely to go a lot further than just telling about it would. And even if such things weren't a consideration, the offer was a heck of a way to say 'I am serious about this peace thing. Come learn more about us!'

Jim was going to have to figure out how to reciprocate. He was reluctant to bring them to Starfleet Academy and let them have a look around in return. Not because he didn't want them learning anything about how Starfleet actually worked, but because unlike Maktor, Jim wasn't the Head Guy In Charge, and he couldn't control anything that happened on Earth, or punish anyone that stepped out of line.

Hmmm. Maybe have some graduate of theirs aboard the Enterprise for a while, to observe? An official officer exchange program wouldn't be ready for months, maybe a year, but some kid hanging around watching them, but not trying to be a part of the chain of command might work. And it would give both sides a better idea of how to structure the program, to boot. So yeah, that might work, if a suitable graduate could be found. Definitely worth discussing with Maktor.

A quick glance at Uhura's face, and in Spock's direction proved that both of them were at the very least in favor of the idea enough to not be looking displeased. Uhura, whose expression was a lot easier for Jim to read, had that 'if you don't do it, I will' sort of look to her face he'd seen a few times.

"That sounds quite interesting." Jim agreed. "I know Sulu has been hoping to see a demonstration with a bat'leth at some point. He enjoys working with bladed weapons and has yet to meet one he doesn't like. For myself, it will be interesting to see what sort of classes your graduates attend, and what they're like."

At the very least, it would allow him to put to rest the view held by a the worst of the bigoted idiots. To whit, that Klingons didn't actually have school. That they didn't prize education, and were only barely literate at best. Jim, of course, knew that was anything but the truth, but well, some people didn't have two brain cells to rub together and made very, very stupid assumptions based on their prejudices towards ... well, whatever it was they didn't like.

[[It's settled then. KaiTan will meet you outside the Great Hall at sunrise, and escort you and however many of your command crew wish to attend to the Academy, and from there to anywhere else you may wish to visit, within reason.]]

Jim nodded, then took a deep breath. "I would very much like to reciprocate, but bringing a few of your people to Earth just for a look around, then bringing them back to Q'onoS would be rather impractical. Instead, I thought perhaps one of your young graduates, if they were so inclined, could stay on the Enterprise for a few weeks to observe only? I wouldn't be able to make them an official part of the crew unfortunately - that would have to wait for the official officer exchange program, but they'd still have access to most places on the ship, and be able to interact with everyone."

Maktor thought that over a moment before nodding. [[That is acceptable, yes. I doubt there will be a dearth of volunteers. Many are quite curious about you and your ship.]]

Of that, Jim had little doubt.

After that, they said their goodbyes for the evening. As soon as they hit the Enterprise transporter room, Jim spoke up.

"Guys, we've been offered a tour of the Klingon Academy, and any other reasonable place we might want to take a peek at, tomorrow. KaiTan, the guy Maktor introduced as basically his First Officer, will be waiting for us at the Great Hall at dawn, Q'onoS time. So if you're wanting a peek at stuff planet-side, make sure you get a good night's sleep."

Sulu, as he'd figured, looked downright eager to attend the tour. Scotty also looked very interested. Actually, Jim decided after a look at everyone's faces, the only ones not visibly eager or anticipatory were Spock and Bones. And the two of them either had 'neutral' or 'grumpy' as their standard facial expressions even when they were feeling something (else).

Everyone but Spock took off for their own quarters at that point, obviously wanting to get some sleep before they had to traipse all over Q'onoS in the morning. Jim regarded Spock for several long moments, then took a wild guess.

"You're wondering why I agreed to have one of the graduates on the Enterprise for a while?" He asked.

"Indeed. It is a controversial decision at best. The Admiralty will be unlikely to approve." Spock said. "Yet if the pattern I have observed as regards your decision making process holds true in this instance, while you have doubtlessly made this decision in part due to its being controversial, you also have a surprisingly logical reason for it as well."

Jim didn't even bother trying to restrain the grin Spock's statement caused. "Yeah, I do. It pretty much boils down to the fact that Klingons and Humans - and pretty much everyone else in the Federation - are different enough that the likelihood of problems is pretty high. The more potential problems we're aware of before they actually become problems, the better. We'll be able to find solutions before things become real issues. Having a Klingon around all day every day for a while will have the best chance of exposing those problems. Having that Klingon on the Enterprise will just make it that much easier. They obviously respect us thanks to us blowing up the Narada, which will give us a bigger margin of error than another crew. We're also adaptable enough to change things up on the fly, unlike some of the other, more ... straight-laced captains and crews."

Spock nodded. "Your position is quite logical." He agreed. "While holding grudges is illogical in the extreme, the fact remains that many of the existing captains had ancestors involved in the Klingon-Federation conflict, and may be less than willing to interact with a Klingon without prejudice as a result."

Jim nodded. "Exactly. I know a couple of the older captains and younger Admirals were ensigns when that whole mess was going on, and lost family and crewmates. They're not going to be any too happy about the Klingons joining the Federation no matter what. At least with the rest, it's a touch less personal."

A touch. Losing a grandparent was, after all, only marginally less painful than losing a parent. Or at least Jim presumed so. It wasn't like he knew - his grandparents on both sides had died before he was born.

(_)(_)(_)

It was amazing the sorts of commonalities you found in even the most diverse of societies, Jim thought the next day. Open-air markets, for instance, were nearly ubiquitous in cities near enough to farmland to make travel to and from workable for the farmers. Granted, such markets were smaller or larger depending on a number of factors, but the odds of finding one were very, very good. And where such markets existed, more than just the farmers were going to end up hawking their wares. It didn't take much, or long, for even the smallest of such markets to attract other small-time businessmen.

They'd passed such a market on their way to the Klingon Academy with KaiTan - a street choked with stalls full of who-knew-what sort of foods, drinks, and other sundries and a lot of not just Klingons but members of other races as well. Jim had been deeply tempted to get KaiTan to let them investigate, but he had a feeling they'd be able to spend all day in such a market, and he wanted a look at the Academy first.

Schools too - at least at the Academy level anyway - had a common layout, even if the buildings themselves looked radically different. The Klingon Academy was no different. It was comprised of a number of large buildings grouped around a large open space. The 'campus' was smaller than Starfleet Academy, but Jim didn't spot anything that was clearly dormitories or some other form of student housing, so that explained part of the size difference. The Klingons also seemed to prefer to build up and keep everything in the smallest number of buildings rather than have a building dedicated to the sciences, and one to engineering, and so forth - or whatever divisions they preferred.

There was also only so many ways for classes to be taught. There had to be a teacher of some description, usually a person, far more rarely a computer. There also usually had to be somewhere for the students to sit, especially if it was a long class. The exception there being the physical classes, like combat training or the like. There was also some means of displaying information for the whole class - usually some sort of projection equipment and a screen or patch of blank wall. The Klingon classrooms proved to have these as well.

Jim knew of more than a few folks back home who'd be shocked to their bones to discover that Klingons had schools at all. For those folks, the idea of Klingon schools that taught them things other than how to headbutt or shoot an enemy into submission was practically heresy. Personally, Jim didn't understand why people thought that. Klingons did, after all, run around in spaceships. Knowing how to kick someone's ass did you no good when it came to steering, or fixing something that broke, or any of a dozen other things that were necessary to the function of a ship that had nothing to do with fighting.

Sure, the Klingons seemed to have an emphasis on combat training, from shooting to various non-energy weapons to their fists. They still had all the other stuff as well. The only thing they came close to actively denigrating and/or ignoring was the medical stuff. Even then, they did have at least a few classes for medical specialists, maybe even a whole, if small, program. What had come as a surprise even to Jim was the fact that the Academy population was split almost 50/50 between men and women. That came as a surprise mostly because the Klingon fleet was crewed almost entirely by men. Jim figured the women applied the lessons they learned to other careers.

As Jim had predicted, they lost Scotty to the Klingon engineering classes. Jim didn't bother to try to figure out how Scotty was going to get his opinions across. He'd manage somehow. Probably better than some would. Engineers all seemed to talk the same language. He was the only one that actually split off for a while though. The rest of them continued on, listening in on various classes for a little bit. The class Jim found himself unexpectedly getting sucked into was their Tactics class.

The Tactics class was taught by a grizzled, scarred, positively ancient Klingon. He had a bunch of images up on the screen in the room of some sort of space battle. The shots were from several different angles, possibly stills from recordings obtained by various ships or perhaps even a nearby satellite or station that had a good view of things. The fact Jim couldn't really tell which ship was on which side told him it was one of the numerous Klingon/Romulan conflicts after the Klingon/Romulan Alliance fell apart.

It quickly becomes clear that the class was analyzing the battle. They were trying to correctly predict the next move on the part of a particular ship, pointed out flaws and mistakes and offered different options to the actions taken. They also tried to figure out what the consequences of those different actions might be. In other words, it was virtually identical to Starfleet classes of that stripe.

"Should send a ship to attack from the side and below." Jim eventually burst out. The situation on the screen had three Klingon ships in a loose semi-circle around two Romulan ships. "No weapons on the underside of a Romulan ship of that class, and their forward guns only reach so far to the sides. In order to shoot at someone coming up under them from the side, they'd have to turn, which would expose them to fire from an angle they couldn't really defend against from one of the ships in the semi-circle."

Next to him, Uhura rolled her eyes slightly but translated his comment. The Klingon instructor gave Jim a squinty-eyed look that Jim couldn't decipher.

[[Our human guest offers a viable tactic. Do any others agree?]]

Several did, of course. Actually, most of the class. The instructor nodded.

[[That is precisely what was done.]] 

The scene was allowed to play out, and one of the Romulan ships got blasted into nonworking condition but not into scraps in the resultant firefight. Alone against three Klingon ships, the remaining Romulan ship didn't last much longer than its fellow.

From there, things just snowballed. Jim ended up in a (mostly playful, it had to be said) argument with the students about another battle. He was advocating one strategy, with support from two or three of the students, while the rest of the class seemed to be united in their approval and recommendation of another tactic. The argument finally got cut off by the end of the class period. Not that that really stopped them. The argument, with additional shoving and a few chest-bumps, continued out into the corridor, where one of the students challenged Jim to some sort of game of strategy. Jim was sorry to decline, but he had no clue how the game was played.

Admitting that resulted in him and the rest of the crew getting dragged into the square, where there were a number of tables and chairs along one side. Most of them were already taken by students, all of them with some sort of game or other.

It didn't take long to discover that every last game being played was one of strategy. There was a game very like chess, in that it had pieces with specific movement restrictions. Unlike chess, where the game was declared won or tied depending by who captured the King (or the fact that neither side was going to be able to), the point of this game was to get as many of the other pieces off the board with as few losses of your pieces as possible. Interestingly, winning wasn't enough. They quickly discovered that the players considered to be the best were those that either lost no pieces or only lost one or two. Like chess, the game came in a two dimensional version for beginners and a three dimensional version for the more advanced players.

There was another game very much like Go, where the point was to place your pieces so that you 'claimed' the greater amount of space on the board compared to your opponent. This too had a two dimensional and three dimensional version. There was a third game that involved cards as well as a board, moveable pieces and a *lot* of yelling and what was probably cussing. Jim couldn't quite work out what the deal was with that game in the brief look he got at it.

They spent an enjoyable half hour watching both the chess-like and Go-like games being played and talking to the students. That was when Jim discovered something interesting. Every last person there was under the age of nineteen. It was possible, of course, that their senior class had gotten wiped out when the Klingon fleet tangled with the Narada, and if that was the case Jim felt for them, because Starfleet Academy had lost almost all of their senior class the same damn way. But even if that was the case, the age was a bit odd.

Chekov, at seventeen, was the exception to the rule where Starfleet Academy was concerned. The vast majority of the student body was over the age of twenty, regardless of species, though some races did average a bit younger than others. Most of them had at least one lesser degree from another university somewhere. Many had quite a bit more than that.

It seemed that Klingons went from their version of standard education straight into the Academy ... and that they got out of standard education a good bit earlier than humans at least did. Jim was also stunned to discover that neither standard schools nor the Academy taught certain fighting skills. These were handed down from father to son. The Academy had sparring instructors available in those arts, but their job was to help the students keep their existing skills sharp when they couldn't get home for a bit of sparring rather than teach them new skills.

Not all fighting skills fell under that umbrella, however. The Academy had instructors to teach and hone shooting, general knife and fist fighting skills. It's at the knife-fighting class that Jim lost Sulu, who all but bounced in. Jim gave an amused headshake.

"He's going to get himself killed, isn't he?" He asked Uhura in an undertone.

"Possibly." She admitted with a quiet laugh. "He looks far too happy to be tangling with these guys."

(_)(_)(_)

KaiTan had made himself as inconspicuous as it was possible for a Klingon to be. He was far more interested in watching how the Enterprise crew interacted, both with each other and with the citizens around them. If he made his presence known and felt, most of the citizens would be focused on him, as a known, very high-profile and important Councilor from a large and well-respected House.

The first thing he figured out watching them was that the female was not, as he had initially suspected, Captain Kirk's woman. Oh, she worked for him, but she didn't warm his bed. On that, KaiTan was willing to bet quite a bit of money. That said, they seemed to have a familiarity with each other similar to what was found in members of a House who were not actually siblings but closely related and friendly with each other.

Certainly, Kirk allowed a degree of informality and jocularity that no Klingon captain would ever permit. Interestingly, far from wrecking his command, it seemed to strengthen it. It was a tactic that would never work with his own people, but humans were different enough - soft enough - that Kirk could get away with it. That said, soft humans might be, and easy targets as well but Kirk had a sharp mind and a good eye for strategy and tactics. KaiTan had a feeling that Kirk would be a hell of a challenge to defeat in a fight, whether face to face or ship to ship. Not because he took the Narada on and won, though that was certainly part of it. The defeat of that ship had nearly as much to do with luck as with anything else, from the tale Kirk had told them though. No, it was the familiar edge to the man that made him dangerous. The near-Klingon edge. Kirk was enough like them to be familiar, yet enough different that he'd be able to pull strategies that a Klingon would never think of.

KaiTan knew of more than a few Klingons - himself included - that would be tempted to test their mettle against Kirk and see how they stacked up. KaiTan restrained the urge, however. There might come a time when a friendly contest wouldn't be taken wrong. That time might even be within the next year. It was, however, not now, when the ink on the treaty wasn't even dry yet.

And that was the other thing about Kirk. KaiTan's grandfather had been on the Council back when Starfleet and the Empire had first clashed. KaiTan had heard tales about those early attempts at meetings. How the humans had been dismissive of virtually everything Klingons valued. How arrogantly sure of their superiority they had been, apparently based solely on the fact they didn't get into fistfights at a moment's notice.

Kirk, on the other hand, had dived right in. He'd not just accepted Klingon culture, he'd used what he knew of it himself to meet them halfway. And he hadn't done it with an air of 'I am doing this to humor you poor savages' either.

When Maktor had proposed bringing Kirk here to talk peace, KaiTan had been ready for open war to end up breaking out. Getting along had been tried, and it hadn't worked. Nothing had changed in the interim, either. To be brutally honest, KaiTan didn't think the peace they'd forged now would last. Kirk was, after all, the exception to what KaiTan knew of the rule when it came to humans.

Then again, where there was one, there just might be more. KaiTan was prepared to admit that his ancestors had been exposed to but a limited number of humans. There were apparently billions of them out there. Among such masses, there had to be those that could get along with Klingons without looking down their noses at them at the same time.

He'd just have to wait and see.

(_)(_)(_)

Earth

Pike woke to a special private pre-recorded message on his comm system in among the raft of normal, everyday correspondence. To his delight, it was from Jim. A visibly ecstatic, grinning-like-a-shark Jim.

"I got it signed, Pike. The Admiralty will be getting the message in the morning, but I figured I'd let you know first so you'd know what you'd be rolling into in the meeting I just know they'll call over this. You and I both know they never expected me to pull this off."

Pike barked a laugh at look on Jim's face, even as he nodded agreement. No, the Admiralty had certainly not expected Jim to pull this off, for any of a number of reasons.

"The rest is going to be up to you and whoever you can get on your side. Just because it's signed doesn't mean they're going to want to honor it." Jim continued. "I'd really like to see a Klingon in the Academy next school year if we can possibly manage it. The sooner they start joining in on stuff in the Federation, the better. Otherwise too many people are going to be happy to have them 'over there' and the 'decent people' over here." Jim's expression twisted into distaste. I'll do what I can from this end. I already have something in mind, but I won't tell you what it is ... that way you can claim innocence and ignorance when they throw a fit and accuse you of knowing what I was up to and not telling them."

"I have no idea when they're going to send a representative to Earth. They're probably going to send them with me, whoever they pick. On that note ... I plan to stay here as the face of the Federation and Starfleet for as long as I can reasonably manage. If something big comes up, we'll go, of course, but otherwise we're staying put."

Pike laughed again. The Admiralty wasn't going to like that when they figured that out, but Jim had the right idea. Hanging around and letting the Klingons get comfortable with them was a good idea.

"We're getting a tour of their Academy in the morning. I'll send you another message with any interesting tidbits we learn, so we can start ironing out an officer exchange program. Don't have too much fun tormenting your fellow Admirals. Kirk out."

Pike gave a final amused snort and then scrolled through his other messages. Sure enough, towards the bottom, where the newest messages were displayed, there was a recorded communiqué from the Admiralty requesting his presence at a meeting in an hour's time. Just barely enough time for him to get dressed and get there. Pike quickly wheeled away from his desk and got going.

An hour later found him in the meeting room. Sadly, he got there after Komack. He was sad to have been deprived of what had probably been a rather epic entrance, if the expression of some of the other Admirals' faces and Komack's nearly puce countenance were anything to go by.

A few minutes after he arrived, the last of the Admirals took their places and the meeting was called to order.

"It is my pleasure to announce that Captain Kirk has succeeded in getting the Klingon Empire to join the Federation." Admiral Calliche said. "The treaty, as signed, is available for your perusal on your datapads. I must admit to being impressed. The treaty is remarkably balanced and fair to both sides. The Empire will retain control of its current territory, but will not seek to conquer further territory without Federation approval, as is standard. They have agreed to the basic minimums required for personal liberty - in other words, they will not permit slavery - prisoner rights and prison conditions, which will doubtlessly force some changes at Rura Penthe, which is all to the good." That penal colony was infamous in half the galaxy for its inhumane conditions and prisoner death toll. "They are requesting deliveries of certain ores to facilitate the rebuilding of their fleet, and are offering rights to one of their dilithium mines - a mine of our choice - in exchange for those materials."

"Well, we've got the ore and metal to spare, to be sure." One of the other Admirals said. "I just wish they'd managed to weasel something regarding the cloaking devices out of the Klingons. Still, that might come later, if they stay in the Federation." It was not unheard of for a race to withdraw for reasons of their own - or in one case, to be forced out for not adhering to some essential bit of Federation law.

Pike just grinned. For a miracle, Komack was silent. He'd probably been driven to the point of being incapable of speech, if his expression and attitude were anything to go by. Pike was looking forward to making it worse.

"I think." He said. "That we need to strike while the iron's hot. Let's get those metal and ores to them - or start to at least - within the week. We should also start figuring out there wheres and whyfores of an officer exchange program, so we know how to integrate them into Starfleet with the fewest problems." He'd leave the 'let's get one of them into the Academy' discussion for a day when most of the other issues as regarded the Klingons' inclusion into the Federation had been at least addressed.


	15. Treachery and Triumph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Spoken Klingon]] 
> 
> Also: You guys didn't REALLY think it would be that easy, did you?

Treachery and Triumph

(_)(_)(_)

Earth

Komack was in a foul mood when he got home that night. Fucking Kirk. Why couldn't anyone else see what Komack did? That Kirk was a liability, that he was going to destroy Starfleet and quite possibly take the entire Federation down with it?

Kirk was dangerous. He was mentally and emotionally unstable. Unfit even to be in Starfleet, never mind in command of so much as a garbage scow. And those morons had put him in the center seat of the flagship of the fleet!

Worse, Kirk had grievances with Starfleet. Komack thought they were complete bullshit, the product of an unstable mind. That didn't change the fact that *Kirk* thought they were legitimate, and might do something to address them. The problem there was the fact that half of Earth and the vast majority of Starfleet damn near worshipped the name Kirk.

Oh, George Kirk had earned that. No question. But people were idiots. They would see the son in the same light as they saw the father. Hell, they had done before this whole fucking mess. That was the entire fucking reason Pike hunted the brat down and got him into Starfleet. James Kirk was the heir apparent to George Kirk, and there were far too many people who wouldn't hear an ill word spoken against him. 

In the aftermath of this mess, Kirk had practically become a god to some folks. Worse still, Kirk had the sort of charisma that got people to flock to his banner, no matter how crazy he might be. Kirk had but to crook his finger and half the Federation would rise up and do anything he asked.

Kirk had to go. Unfortunately, Komack knew that Kirk was basically bulletproof. Between being Kirk and having saved Earth's ass, the boy could probably shoot the President of the Federation in front of the entire Council and still not get in trouble for it. Which meant there was only one real choice left to get rid of him.

James Kirk had to die.

That wasn't going to be easy to arrange. Knowing where the Enterprise was would help, to be sure, but finding someone willing to put a phaser blast through the brat's head was going to be a challenge. His best option was probably going to be someone unaffiliated with the Federation.

Komack had a few ideas along those lines. The Ferengi might be willing to do it, or broker a deal with someone who would. The Orions were also a possibility, though Komack knew he'd run the risk of them deciding not to kill Kirk, but make him a slave. That would be a problem, because as long as he was alive, Kirk was a threat. There was also the Klingons. One of the ones that didn't want their Empire tangled up in the Federation. They might just be willing to off Kirk.

Komack was going to have to be very, very careful, however. He couldn't leave so much as a crumb of evidence as to what he was doing. The odds of someone finding that evidence and figuring out what he was up to were too high. So this would be a long-term project. Komack could deal with that. Knowing this was in the works would help him grin and bear it in future Admiralty meetings, or whenever Pike got insufferably smug.

(_)(_)(_)

Q'onoS

Komack would be able to find more help on Q'onoS than he probably thought he would, if he sought assistance with Kirk's demise from the Klingons.

The three now-ex Councilors, having been forcibly removed from the Great Hall, had not returned home immediately. The one who had been more or less stripped by Sulu's clever bladework did stop long enough to get new clothes, but after that the three of them retreated to the Klingon equivalent of a dive bar at the edge of the capital city. The bar was dangerously close to the city limits and therefore the edge of the 'neutral territory' zone. Patrons walking - or dragging another patron - past the city limits only a few dozen meters away in order to mete out something more than a playful wrestling defeat was a nearly daily occurrence.

They drank themselves into a stupor, nursing their wounded egos and grievances. All three of them ended up getting into fights with other patrons, taking out their rage at being ousted on hapless - for Klingons - victims.

The worst of their rage spent, and feeling a touch better about themselves after having beaten a few of their fellows into submission, the three ex-councilors met in one of the back rooms of a bar further away from the edge of the city and thus far more civilized in its clientele.

Their task - to kill Kirk and hopefully get the Empire out of the clutches of the Federation, was both simpler and more difficult than it would be for Komack to pursue the same goal. Unlike Komack, the three Klingons would have far less difficulty finding people to help them. For all that better than half the Klingons in the Empire saw and agreed with the necessity of joining the Federation, the rest of them were more than a little disgruntled. Their warrior prides were wounded by the very idea of seeking an alliance with someone else, metaphorical hat in hand.

Where the three men were going to run into problems was going to be getting at Kirk. While the idea of just using a disruptor on Kirk had been raised, it had ultimately been disapproved. Yes, Kirk was a human, so honorable behavior technically didn't apply when dealing with him, nor was it possible to get from him. That said, it might not technically apply, but they were *Klingons*. They would not stoop to dishonorable behavior.

That meant approaching and fighting Kirk face-to-face ... or ship-to-ship. Ship-to-ship was more or less impossible. What few warships remained in the fleet had been dispatched to at least try to keep peace on the borders or to safeguard the more important colonies and conquered worlds. They could not be spared from those duties. The refitted cargo ships would be no match against even an older, less-heavily armed Starfleet ship, never mind its flagship.

Unfortunately, approaching Kirk face-to-face was going to be problematic at best. While they might still have a supporter or two in the Council, those men would not be caught dead interacting with the triad at this point. In a few weeks or months, yes. Now, no. The memory of their ignominious failure and removal from the Council would have to fade a bit before they could make use of that avenue.

Getting Kirk out of the city, and therefore out of the neutral zone, was their first hurdle. Without the assistance of someone in the Great Hall, they had no way of knowing where Kirk might be at any given time during his stay on Q'onoS. Which meant they wouldn't know when it might be feasible to drag him out of the neutral zone.

But all was not lost. There were a great many things of interest for a newcomer to see on Q'onoS. It might be possible to lure Kirk outside of the city, all unknowing of the danger of leaving, using one of those things. From there, it became a question of which thing had the best chance of drawing Kirk out, without raising the suspicions of the Council. The three Klingons wouldn't put it past their fellows to forewarn Kirk of danger if they suspected what the triad were up to.

(_)(_)(_)

Elsewhere in the Galaxy, Part 1

Dangers were stirring in other places as well.

The Romulan government may have decided to lock down their borders and not launch an assault on either the Klingons or the Federation, but that did not mean they had withdrawn entirely, nor had they given up on the general plan to be the last race standing in the galaxy.

To that end, several 'sleeper agents' had been activated. These were individuals who, while Romulan, had lived most of their lives in quiet, out of the way places on the edge of Federation territory, passing themselves off as Vulcans to folks who didn't know anywhere near enough about Vulcans to be able to spot any inconsistencies.

In the normal scheme of things, these people would have remained on the fringes, destabilizing the more remote colonies and borders as opportunity presented itself. Occasionally, one of them might seize an opportunity to work closer in to the center of the Federation, careful to keep well clear of Vulcans and anyone who might know enough about them to spot a fake.

With what seemed like half the galaxy in an uproar, untold numbers of Vulcans dead and the rest badly rattled to put it gently, these agents had an unforeseen opportunity. Vulcan tended to keep quite excellent records of which of its citizens were where in the wider galaxy. Unfortunately, the speedy demise of the planet had both destroyed the primary records and prevented the most recently added files from being uploaded to off-planet computers.

Which meant that the Vulcan High Council was depending on their own memories and out-of-date computer records of where their people were at. The odds of names and locations being lost, forgotten or incorrectly remembered were incredibly high, especially with the circumstances the Elders were dealing with at the moment. This, combined with the stress all Vulcans were under, gave the Romulans an opportunity to pretend to be Vulcans ... in the presence of actual Vulcans. Any inconsistencies in their behavior would be dismissed as mental and emotional compromise in the face of the loss of the planet and so many of the Vulcan people. 

The odds of anyone realizing that there was no such person as whatever name the Romulans happened to be using were very slim. Better, they would be able to get right into the heart of the remnants of the Vulcan government and stay there for who-knew-how-long. It might even be possible for one or more of them to stay permanently, if any oddities in their behavior continued to be dismissed. If such things began to be noticed and commented on again, it would be fairly easy to arrange for an ambassadorship somewhere where they would, once again, be without Vulcan eyes watching them.

Pulling the wool over Vulcan eyes wasn't going to be easy, even under these trying (for Vulcans) circumstances, but if they could manage it, it would very much be worth it.

(_)(_)(_)

Elsewhere in the Galaxy, Part 2

On the far side of the Federation from the Klingon and Romulan Empires, a sleeping giant was waking. They had been, until now, content to prey upon the weak worlds at the edges of their territory that lay furthest from the Federation border. So much of the Federation, Klingon, and Romulans' attention was focused on each other that this other race was able to operate with impunity elsewhere in the quadrant, a virtual unknown.

They had kept out of Federation/Klingon/Romulan affairs. All three had been too heavily armed thanks to their conflicts with each other to be easy prey. It did not help that the Federation policed its border with vigor, and any attempt to conquer one of the worlds under their banner would have been noticed before the world was fully conquered. But now ... now two of them were weakened, and the third had withdrawn into its borders and all but barred the gates behind them.

There would never be a better time. The odds of being able to snatch worlds from the Federation or Klingon Empire's fingers were incredibly high. Especially with the Empire. The Federation had lost ships and personnel, but nowhere near the numbers the Klingon Empire had.

Still, they would not rush into this. Information was required. Numbers, capabilities, movement patterns. What were the Klingons trying to defend, and how? Which worlds offered the most to their soon-to-be new overlords? What defenses did those worlds possess?

It had taken months to acquire the knowledge required. No scrap was overlooked. Now, the ramifications of peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire were discussed in depth. How much aid would the Federation give its new ally if they came under attack? The two had been enemies for a time, and twitchy co-inhabitants of the Quadrant after that. Was there a way to strike at a Klingon world and make it appear to have been the Federation's doing? What would be the best route to reach the Empire's borders? These questions and more were asked, and answers sought.

It was perhaps their reptilian ancestry, however remote that now was, that gave this people the patience required to gather all information to them, weigh their choices and prepare fully for action before actually striking. They did not rush, did not allow anger or the lust for battle to cloud their thinking. Which is not to say they did not get angry, nor have a lust for battle. They just didn't let it get in the way of things.

The Federation was more of a concern than the Klingons. Their fleet was mostly intact, save seven ships. That not only meant they had the numbers and firepower to defend their member worlds, they also had the experience to do so. The Klingons had lost virtually the entirety of their elder, upper command structure, reducing their threat level considerably even if they had still had the ships to fight with.

There was another problem with the Federation, and that was its new wild card. While the fourth race's natural inclination was to scoff at a stripling youth being a viable threat, they were wise enough, and willing, to admit that perhaps the captain of the Enterprise might be an exception to the general rule. Still, his opponent had clearly been unhinged. They did not require more knowledge of the Narada's captain than that he was willing to blow up worlds to know that. Such a thing was the height of folly. That would have weighted the fight in the young Human's favor.

The question therefore, was how would this boy stack up against an older, wiser, more wily opponent? One who was the victor of many campaigns? A clever mind could only compensate so much for youth and inexperience. Deciding which of their best, most experienced captains should face off against the Enterprise when that time came was the subject of many a debate. It wasn't, after all, just a matter of throwing the oldest and most experienced captain at the Enterprise. No, they wanted to send the captain with the greatest advantages against the Enterprise. Someone whose strengths lay in the areas that the Enterprise captain was weakest.

Unfortunately, information of that caliber was somewhat lacking. They would have to observe more in order to ferret out such information. They would, perhaps, have to draw the Enterprise into a conflict or two with lesser captains in order to learn that information.

Yes, there was much to learn yet, many decisions yet to be made and much planning to do. But soon, the fourth race would no longer lurk in the shadows.

(_)(_)(_)

Q'onoS (1 week after the treaty got signed)

Scotty was having the time of his life.

It had all started innocently enough at the Klingon Academy. Scotty had peeled off from the rest of the Enterprise command crew when they'd gotten to the Engineering classes. Communicating had been a bit of a challenge - Scotty didn't know a word of Klingon - but fortunately formulae, elements, and schematics had a nearly universal language all their own, and he'd managed well enough.

He'd been reluctant to return to the Enterprise that evening, but it had ended up being worth it. Overnight, Uhura, Spock Kirk had teamed up to slap together a Klingon/Standard translator, with Uhura supplying the language knowledge and Spock and Kirk supplying the programming and building skills to make them. They'd managed to knock together three of the things that first day. Scotty and Sulu had gotten two of them, with the third going to Chekov. The triad had made three more the next day, thus allowing for the entire command crew to go where they pleased without needing to have Uhura with them to translate. The translators were nowhere near as good as she was, of course. They couldn't parse tone or emphasis, or interpret body language. Still, it was better than nothing.

Translator in hand, Scotty had gone back to the Academy and had spent the day in the Engineering department again. Towards the end of the day, the professor of the class had said something about a tour of a partially-complete ship that had been planned for his class taking place in a few days, and did Scotty want to go along. Which, the answer to that was always going to be yes. Even if they didn't let him near any readouts or control panels, it'd be worth it to go. Where Klingon ships were concerned, all anyone knew about them was that they ran on dilithium crystals, had cloaking devices, and what the bridge looked like. Everything else was a mystery.

Besides, he *was* an engineer. Even if he didn't get to see the wiring or schematics, he could make some pretty accurate guesses about things just with what he was allowed to see.

The first thing he learned was that the Klingons apparently built from the outside in - other than the ship's skeleton, that is. Doing it that way was probably a necessity, with the weather Q'onoS had. Leaving big gaps in the hull while building section by section just wasn't feasible when Earth-hurricane speed winds were pretty much a monthly occurrence, among other weather issues.

So the outer hull was already in place. Inside, however, was mostly a shell. There were cables and wires everywhere. The basic outline of the bridge was visible, even though most of the furniture wasn't in place. The way the cables and wires were bundled gave away where a console would be, and it matched what Scotty remembered having seen of the bridge of the ship that had escorted them here, more or less.

Most of the internal walls had at least been framed up, though not actually plated yet. Cables and wires were bundled together at various intervals and temporarily tacked into position, waiting for whatever was going to be hooked up to them to be installed. The floors were nothing more than rickety catwalks in most places, and ladders were the only way to get from deck to deck. There were something like twenty Klingons working in various places, most of them with welding equipment that was sending sparks and molten bits of metal everywhere. The rest were still busily laying the cables and wires.

To Scotty's eyes, it left a lot to be desired, but then he was used to the bright, shiny white interiors of Starfleet ships. Klingons favored a much dimmer, darker atmosphere, and were nowhere near as picky when it came to aesthetics. That said, he did have to admit, as he listened to the lecture accompanying the tour, that maybe Starfleet could learn a thing or two from Klingon engineers. They'd learned the hard way to do the most they could with the least amount of material possible, thanks to the Empire's general lack of resources.

Not that Starfleet was wasteful, per se, but with far greater resources available, they hadn't had to be as careful. There hadn't been a focus on getting the most from the least, as there was in the Empire.

The biggest difference between Klingon ships and their Starfleet counterparts was the lack of Jeffries tubes. This difference Scotty chalked up to that whole 'most from the least' attitude. They couldn't afford the resources it'd take to build a ship of the size where Jeffries Tubes would become a necessity. All the cables, wires, pipes and such would be accessible from hatches scattered in various places on walls, floors, and even ceilings in the corridors and rooms. It was probably a bit of a pain to deal with in the middle of a fight, when everyone was running back and forth, but it was as good a solution as any.

(_)(_)(_)

While Scotty was having fun poking his nose in the nooks and crannies of a partly-built Klingon warship, Sulu was busy getting his ass handed to him. And not in a malicious way, either.

He'd spent about two days watching the various Academy students sparring with each other. There was definitely some sort of pecking order as to who sparred with who and who *could* spar with who without it having a vicious 'this is for real, not for practice' edge to it. By the end of the second day, Sulu was starting to pick up on the pattern, and was starting to get an idea of who was where in the Academy hierarchy, even if he didn't know how their positions were judged.

The best part of it was that Sulu got to see a bat'leth in action on the second day. Two of the oldest cadets faced off with them, their movements carefully ritualistic in a way very reminiscent of those found in the martial arts, even though the exact actions weren't the same. The concepts themselves were definitely recognizable. Stand just so to defend, and thus to attack. Hold the weapon and move thus to block this sort of strike, and shift your grip thusly to turn the block into a return strike. 

The biggest difference between the bat'leth and the vast majority of weapons was the fact that the bat'leth could be held along most of its length, rather than only at one end or the other, as was usual with human weapons. That change allowed for a far greater number of grips, and a greater versatility in the use of the weapon. 

Hold it one way, and it essentially became a dagger - held close in to the body, with the sharp tips used to cut and slash at short range. Held another way, it essentially became a shield, blocking incoming strikes. Held another way, and it essentially became a sword, the whole long inner curve of sharp blade used not much differently than a katana to slice at an opponent at arm's length. And those were just the basics that Sulu could easily pick up on. He was quite sure he was missing most of the finer points of bat'leth handling.

Towards the end of that (probably inadvertent) demonstration, a third Klingon had approached Sulu.

[[You are the one it is said fought a Romulan with a blade?]] They asked. 

Sulu gave silent thanks for the translator that Kirk, Spock, and Uhura had cobbled together. "Yeah, that's me."

[[I did not think humans learned such skills.]]

"It's not all that common." Sulu said. "But there are still people that learn it. It used to be a bit more common than it is these days."

[[Would you be willing to demonstrate your skill?]]

Sulu didn't need Uhura there to translate to know that there was a challenge behind that almost-offhand question. He grinned toothily. "Sure. No problem. Not against one of your bat'leth's though." He tried not to mangle the word, and probably failed. "I don't think my blade's sturdy enough to not get wrecked by one of those." 

Which was only the truth. His blade wasn't designed to face off against something that big, heavy, and sturdy. It also had the benefit of sidestepping something that Sulu had a feeling would be an issue.

The Klingon nodded. [[I will use a mek'leth, then]]

Sulu had no idea what a mek'leth was. The rough translation was 'sword', but there were a good dozen or better general types of swords on Earth, with who-knew-how-many variations on the basic themes. There was no telling what a Klingon thought a sword was.

Still, he followed the guy to the sparring area. The guy produced something that kind of reminded Sulu a little of a machete - about that long, with a wide, sturdy blade. Sadly, there all similarities ended. The thing had what looked like a small, secondary blade that curved back over the handle and would protect the wielder's hand from disarming strikes, as well as serve admirably as a close-range slashing weapon in its own right. Weirdly, the tip of the thing was far wider than the base and almost square. With a tip like that, the thing had to be used primarily for slashing. Piercing strikes like were used with an epee would be nearly useless.

The good news was that Sulu would have the longer reach. His fold-away sword was nearly half again as long as the mek'leth. That was all to the good. Facing an unfamiliar blade and an opponent he knew was physically stronger than he was, he'd need the extra range to evade attacks. He pulled the grip of his sword from the sheath on his back and hit the button to unfold the blade. That made the Klingon tip his head slightly.

[[Clever]]

After that, there was a lot of circling and feinting. A lot. Both of them were eyeballing each other, testing reaction times and weaknesses. Sulu was the faster and more agile by quite a margin - all that muscle and armor slowed Klingons down considerably and made any degree of flexibility nearly impossible. That said, the Klingon definitely had the edge in sheer power, and quite possibly in experience, given their warrior culture. Sulu was very leery of getting close in where the guy could bring those muscles to bear.

Eventually, the Klingon got tired of pussyfooting around and attacked in earnest. Or, well, not in *earnest* ... he wasn't out to actually kill Sulu. Or so Sulu hoped. Rather, he did something that wasn't a feint, and the fight was on. By then, their little contest had gathered several curious onlookers. When they actually started fighting, several more wandered over, watching interestedly. Sulu kept half an eye on them lest someone decide to interfere.

Sulu had been right, though, in his guess as to how a mek'leth was used. Definitely a slashing weapon rather than a piercing one. Thankfully, his sword was also primarily a slashing weapon, and while not strong enough to stand up to a bat'leth, it seemed able to handle the mek'leth just fine.

And yeah, dude did have more experience. As the fight wore on, Sulu figured that one out. He might be roughly the same age as Chekov, give or take a year, but Sulu had a feeling this kid could hold his own against most of the best martial artists (that used weapons) remaining on Earth. If Sulu had needed proof the kid wasn't out to kill him, he got it, because the kid didn't press every opening he got ... and he did get some. Some of the openings were products of the fact he was using an unfamiliar weapon in unfamiliar ways, but others were because he was just that good with the thing. To be completely fair, though, Sulu got several openings himself because of the 'unfamiliar blade, unfamiliar opponent' thing.

Eventually, both of them were out of breath and Sulu was sweating, though he wasn't sure whether or not the Klingon was - or even could. The guy let out a boisterous laugh and called a halt to their contest.

[[Not bad at all, for a human]] He admitted.

Sulu gave the guy a toothy grin. "That was fun. Gotta do that again sometime."

That got him another laugh from the Klingon, and to his surprise, a forearm grip like he'd seen them do when greeting each other. [[Agreed. Ask for Dakar. The others will know where to find me.]]

"Nice to meet you, Dakar." Sulu said, aware he'd passed some sort of test with the guy. "I'm Hikaru."

(_)(_)(_)

While they had made translators for themselves just in case, both Spock and Jim stuck close to Uhura, and for the same reason. Neither of them quite trusted the Klingons to keep their hands off. Yeah, Uhura could probably kick a Klingon's ass if they tried something, and *would* kick Jim and Spock's asses for defending her, but neither man was willing to let things get out of hand if they could help it. They'd rather take their lumps from Uhura if shit went down than risk a Klingon managing to overpower her.

It said something that Uhura was *letting* them play guard dog without scolding them for it.

That one concern aside, the triad had a lot of fun. There were a lot of interesting things to see in the capital city. Klingon entertainments, while different from human ones, were just enough similar that they could be appreciated. They had something very, very similar to opera, and a weird-ass sort of poetry in addition to other arts. They got to see a place where the flag-tapestries like they saw in the Great Hall were made - still by hand, incredibly enough. Though Jim had a feeling that had more to do with tradition than with a lack of technology to make them another way. 

That place also made other tapestry-like stuff and paintings, also by hand. There seemed to be a small range of images that were evidently only done by hand, for whatever reasons. It wasn't until one of the images was identified as a representation of Kahless fighting Molor that Jim figured out why. Given the reverence with which Kahless was treated in Klingon culture, it made sense they might want to do things that involved him in a more 'traditional' way.

The sixth day of their tour of the city, Jim finally managed to wrangle a visit to the open-air market they'd passed on the way to the Academy. The place was every bit as awesome as he'd hoped. Alongside a fairly small range of plant life was a surprisingly large array of animals and animal parts in varying stages of alive, butchered and carved into pieces, and partially or fully prepared. There were also several stalls that offered small knives and other smaller weapons, pots, pans, and other cookware, some that offered spices, and at least three stalls offering various alcoholic drinks. Then there were the stalls that offered things that Jim couldn't readily identify.

Uhura had a blast. So did Jim for that matter. Even Spock looked intrigued a few times. Jim just enjoyed the energy of the place. It was loud and boisterous and there was more than a little shoving and fighting going on here and there, but it all seemed to be good-natured, rather than 'I want to kill you' serious. Jim supposed it was fairly comparable to the jostling and jockeying that younger, close male friends could indulge in, among humans.

About halfway through the day, they got a tail, in the form of a kid that looked to be all of about eight. Jim had no idea if it was a girl or a boy, but they followed the triad at a distance for about five minutes, curiosity plain on their face. Eventually, Jim shot Uhura and Spock an amused look, then turned towards the kid.

"Hi there." He said. Behind him, Uhura translated for him. 

The kid's eyes got big for a second before they puffed out their chest. [[My mother says that you avenged my father]] The kid said.

Awww, shit. Jim clenched his jaw briefly. Oh, he'd known this sort of thing had to have been inevitable for the Klingons, given how many men they'd lost on those ships. Still, it was one thing to know there'd be fatherless kids - possibly even total orphans - and another to have one of them walk up and say hi.

"You mean by destroying the Romulan ship?" Jim asked. The kid nodded. "Then yeah, I guess I did. I avenged a lot of deaths, doing that. But it wasn't just me. It was my entire crew. They all had a hand in it. A captain's only as good as his crew."

Of course, destroying the Narada had had very little to do with vengeance and a lot to do with sheer survival, but Jim wasn't going to tell this kid that. If the kid drew some comfort out of the idea of his father being avenged, Jim would literally be the last person in existence to take that away from them.

Right about then, a Klingon woman worked her way through the crowd around them. This was clearly mom, as the kid ran to her and started a rapid-fire babble that apparently didn't require things like breathing. Jim didn't need to know that the kid was telling mom about meeting them, because the kid pointed at them several times. Eventually, the kid ran out of words, and mom put a hand on their shoulder before turning her attention to Jim, Spock and Uhura.

[[Not all our people will be so grateful]] The woman said. [[But you have the thanks of myself and my son. I know it was not your sole purpose, but the destruction of that ship did avenge the deaths of those we loved. If you ever have need, seek N'akana of House Turan. I will aid you.]]


	16. Testing the Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUN

Testing the Waters

(_)(_)(_)

At first blush, the Cardassian Union and its people bore a passing resemblance to the Klingon Empire and its people. Like the Klingon Empire, the Cardassian Union was fairly resource-poor. Like the Klingons, they had a war-centered culture where males dominated. There, however, all similarities with Klingons stopped.

Cardassians considered men and women 'equal but separate'. The men fought, and participated in politics at all levels. The women ran the sciences. Every Cardassian ship had at least two women aboard - an engineer and a doctor. The larger ships had a much larger complement of women aboard. Unlike with Klingons, it was also possible for women to succeed in male-dominated careers, and for men to succeed in female-dominated careers though they would face a steep uphill battle. Female warship captains or high-level politicians were extremely rare, but they did exist, as did male engineers, scientists, and doctors.

For Cardassians, knowledge was nigh-on to sacred. Their schooling in early life rivaled that of Vulcans in its intensity and scope. They kept meticulous records so that knowledge gained was never lost. This obsession extended even to themselves, as their government had several groups dedicated to spying on their own people and learning everything about everyone.

Also unlike Klingons, age and experience were deeply respected in Cardassian culture. It was literally impossible for a Cardassian to rise to certain ranks before their thirtieth birthday, as before that point they were seen as too young and ignorant to be trusted with such responsibility.

More to the point, while Cardassians were warriors and more than a little ruthless, they never acted in haste. They collected as much information as they could about a target and tailored their attacks to take advantage of the target's weaknesses. They were the ultimate in combat pragmatism, unafraid to use any tactic, no matter how questionable, if it gave them the advantage.

Sadly, while their internal spy network was without rival, unlike the Romulan Empire, they had next to no spy network keeping watch over their nearest spatial neighbors in secret. Romulans looked enough, and could act enough, like Vulcans to fool many observers. Cardassians were unique enough in appearance to draw attention and commentary, which defeated the purpose of spying. So they generally had to gather their knowledge in other ways. Intercepting and decoding transmissions was by far their favorite and most-used tactic. But sometimes not even that gave them the information they needed. At such times, they had to resort to gathering the knowledge by hand. Despite their distaste for direct confrontation when they didn't have sufficient knowledge to work with, it was sometimes the only way to get the information they sought.

Such was the case with the situation in the Federation and Klingon Empires. There was no real way to know what either power would do in the face of an incursion of any descrption, save to actually attempt a very small-scale incursion. It was a risk, but a heavily calculated one.

(_)(_)(_)

Gul Drakat sat in the command chair of his ship, contemplating his task.

He had, after much debate, been chosen to lead a strike against one of the Klingon colony worlds. This strike, he knew was mostly not in earnest. Oh, if they actually managed to take the world, they would do their utmost to keep it, but that wasn't the general plan, and if it came to that, Drakat was well aware he would likely fail. A single ship could not hope to hold a planet, no matte how sparsely populated, for long. 

More to the point, the Klingon Empire was on the far side of the Federation from the Cardassian Union. That made holding a planet captured from the Empire a virtually impossible undertaking. Supplies and backup were entirely too far away and too easily disrupted for success to be possible.

No, this strike was far more about testing the waters. Seeing if the Federation noticed their incursion into Federation space, and if so what they did about it. Seeing if the Klingons would notice, and what they would do about it. And more importantly, seeing what the wild card that was the Enterprise and its captain would do about the situation.

Drakat had been chosen for this strike because while he was a bit younger than most captains. He had only just turned thirty-five. In most arenas, his youth counted against him. However, in this situation it was of use. He was a touch more flexible than most, willing to take action occasionally without full information and a guarantee of success. This made him able to adjust plans on the fly better than most Cardassian captains, who stuck to the tried-and-true gambits that had been established in the past. Given they had no idea how anyone would respond, adaptability was the name of the game. 

Drakat, thankfully, had enough experience not to make too poor a showing, as he'd been promoted to his position about a year before the Narada struck for the second time. Unusually young, for a captain, but Drakat had earned it. If he managed to succeed sufficiently with this task, his reputation would be greatly enhanced.

Slipping through Federation space proved ridiculously easy. But then, that wasn't all that surprising. It was virtually impossible to police every millimeter of the space any political power claimed as their dominion. Not even the Union managed that feat, though Drakat knew they came a lot closer than most. There was so much distance to cover between stars in general, never mind stars with planets that had some sort of population loyal to the political entity that claimed the area that whole fleets of ships fly through a political entity's territory without being detected if they knew what they were about. And even in the more heavily trafficked areas of space, it was still possible for a single ship to go undetected, even if they didn't have a cloaking device to hide behind.

Drakat's ship flew through Federation space without a single challenge. Of course, Drakat had specifically planned their route to take advantage of the more disused and unpopulated areas between the Union and the Empire, so that was hardly all that surprising to him. The Federation had concentrated much of its attention on the Romulan and Klingon borders even before this latest contretemps. Now, virtually all of their attention lay in that direction in an attempt to perceive an attack before it came. It left their other borders all but undefended.

Finally, they came to the edge of the Federation/Klingon border. Drakat ordered his navigator to reduce speed, and then ordered the science officer to scan for any source of energy. Both the Klingons and the Federation policed the neutral zone assiduously, and had several space stations within scanning range as well as, under ideal conditions, several ships patrolling. Drakat also knew that the presence of unmanned scanning platforms was also a high probability. Finding where the ships and other structures were at would give him a good idea of where scanning fields were and where they overlapped.

Of course in the case of the Empire, there was a bit less to worry about, in that they had virtually no fleet of ships left. So there were likely to be no or few ships wandering around on their side of the zone looking for trouble. Especially since they were attempting to broker peace with the Federation. Drakat figured they'd have the bulk of their attention on the Romulans.

As Drakat had predicted, the entire zone border was being monitored on the Federation side. Drakat was forced to seek a place that was equidistant between space stations to cross. Ships were easy to avoid and of little concern, but the space stations' sensors were going to be a bit trickier. The best he was going to be able to do was to cross at a place that was where their sensors would be at their greatest extension. That would make it less likely that those sensors would detect their crossing. His science officer eventually found an appropriate place along the border to cross.

Drakat gave the order to cross, and the navigator immediately increased their speed. They got maybe halfway through the area to the zone's border before they were approached by a small ship that Drakat assumed had been attached to one of the space stations. The captain of the ship was bright enough to keep his ship well back in an attempt to stay out of firing range. They had, however, misjudged the proper distance, and were still within reach of Cardassian armaments. The captain of the ship hailed them.

"Unidentified craft. Please identify yourself and change course. You are approaching the Neutral Zone between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire. Traffic in this area is heavily restricted, and crossing the neutral zone is considered an act of war." A voice said.

Drakat ignored the hail, and they kept right on going. A few moments later, a much larger Federation ship approached, its shields up and armaments already tracking their position. Backup had arrived, and the game was afoot. Drakat was somewhat impressed at the speed with which the backup had arrived. Clearly the Federation was keeping a sharp eye out and reacting swiftly to any potential problems.

It suggested that the Federation had not been as negatively affected as the Union had hoped. Either that or that they had been, but they were very good at hiding it. Either way, it was going to make dealing with them trickier than the Union had hoped.

"Twitchy, aren't they." Drakat commented to no one in particular. "Ignore them and proceed. If they attempt to fire on us, evade and then go to high warp. We'll lose them and be able to cross the neutral zone with no problems."

"Yes sir." His navigator said.

The Federation ship hailed them several more times, using several different languages in an attempt to communicate. Drakat maintained silence. When the Federation ship finally began to get aggressive, they had managed to get to within spitting distance of the neutral zone, relatively speaking. That did not speak so well of them.

Waiting so long strongly suggested a pacifistic mindset of some stripe. Whether it was cowardice, a desire to presume the best of all beings they interacted with until those being proved themselves untrustworthy, a quirk individual to this particular ship captain or something else, Drakat did not know. It would take far more than a single incursion with a single ship to properly suss out the truth of that matter.

The Federation ship finally fired a warning shot in front of Drakat's ship, missing the leading edge of the hull by nearly five hundred deca. The navigator swung them around like they were going to turn away and go somewhere else, then before the Federation ship knew what they were about, turned back to the neutral zone and went into high warp briefly, leaving the Federation ship in their metaphorical dust with no idea of their identity or destination.

They slowed down once they were well beyond the reach of the sensors of the Federation space stations. Drakat waited to see if they would attempt to send a ship after them, despite not knowing where they were going.

Interestingly, instead of doing that, his communications officer intercepted two coded transmissions. One was sent to the Klingon High Council. The other was sent to the Enterprise. That was going to make things interesting by speeding up the response time of both entities.

Crossing the Neutral Zone itself was easy and problem free. This bothered Drakat no small amount. It seemed foolish to him to leave such a large area of space unguarded in any way, shape, or form. Once inside that area, an enemy ship or even a fleet could hide and attack either the Federation or the Empire with impunity, sowing discord and chaos in both territories. He might just recommend such a course of action to his superiors if this foray went well.

They approached the Klingon border with all due caution. But here, they had little to worry about. The Klingon space stations were far more widely spaced than their Federation counterparts, and their scanning technology not as advanced. On top of that, the Klingons really didn't have a fleet anymore to help defend their border.

All in all, even with crossing Federation territory and the Neutral Zone, it took them less than half a day to reach their intended target. The target was a world that provided the Empire with badly-needed metal ores. While the colony in question didn't produce mass amounts of ore, it was still an important colony in the resource-poor Empire and thus made a good test target.

Better still, the world was close enough to the Neutral Zone that the Empire had sent a ship to protect it as best it could. Given that the ship in question was a hastily-refitted cargo ship, it wasn't going to be any match for Drakat's ship. For that matter, even a Klingon warship wouldn't have lasted long against his ship.

Klingon ships were tough but for whatever reason, generally not kept in good condition. It was the opinion of the Union that the Klingon insistence on disinclusion of their females in any position that might lead combat or political prominence was the root cause. Given that even their cargo ships had been armed prior to the destruction of their fleet - just not to the same level as their actual warships - and might see combat, Klingon women would have been forbidden to touch them. Drakat saw no reason to doubt or challenge that conclusion. 

The Klingon ship guarding the colony world had evidently been warned of danger, either by their Council or the Enterprise. It was easy to tell that because the ship was cloaked when they arrived. This necessitated a game of cat-and-mouse. The ship could hide, but it could not fight, and it wouldn't be able to hide for long. 

The cloaking shields used by the Klingons and Romulans didn't work perfectly. Drakat thought it extremely foolish of them to utilize and depend upon a technology with such easily-taken-advantage-of flaws. There was a benefit to going unseen, so he could see why they had been so eager to use the technology once they developed it. But they had gotten careless, and had deemed it sufficient that the devices mostly hid them from sight. Both races accounted it as unimportant in the grand scheme of things that ships under cloak were still detectable to the careful, clever eye, never mind to scanners.

It was inconceivable to Drakat that a piece of technology so flawed that it allowed for a ship's position to be perceived by the *unaided eye* had been permitted to be used in every ship in both fleets. Such a thing would never be permitted in the Union. That was, in fact, why no Cardassian ship had a cloaking device. Their engineers had been unable to resolve the issue. There was a delay, short but present and unable to be eliminated, between what the ship's scanners told the device ought to be visible, and what the device projected for outsiders to see. This delay caused a faint ripple in the visual field where the ship was at that could be seen by the naked eye if one was paying close attention.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of cruising around the planet and keeping a close eye on the viewscreen as the area was scanned, they found the hiding ship. Drakat immediately ordered his gunner to fire at the center of the visual disturbance. Because it was still cloaked, they didn't manage to blow it up due to the difficulty in aiming at something they could only see in the most general sense. They knew it was there, but they had no idea how it was oriented, which would affect where their shots would hit. They did, however, manage to damage the ship enough to make fighting back impossible. 

Since the aim of this exercise was not wanton destruction, Drakat did not order his gunner to destroy the ship. That it was unable to attack them was enough. 

"Target the ship's communications arrays and destroy them." Drakat ordered. "Then do likewise to the planet's orbital relays."

That would either slow down the arrival of help, or the sudden lack of contact would send help on the run. It would be interesting to see which it would be.

His gunner quickly complied. Drakat gave a sharp nod.  
"Now. Target the largest of the planet's mines, and shoot just close enough to it to destabilize the tunnels. I don't want the mine blown up ... just made unusable in its current form." Drakat commanded

That was about the limit of what their weapons would be able to manage, since they were not intended for a planetary assualt, but combat in space against fellow spaceships. Orbital bombardment called for an entirely different sort of weaponry.

They had barely gotten a single shot in when the Enterprise warped in, forward batteries already blazing. Drakat's navigator was forced to hurriedly turn them away from the planet and back off to avoid their getting blown to bits, which had probably been the Enterprise's plan in the first place.

The Enterprise planted itself firmly between Drakat's ships and the planet. Its weapons ports were practically glowing, and Drakat did not think he was being fanciful when the thought that the Enterprise was almost visibly bristling crossed his mind. As ridiculous as it may have seemed to ascribe emotion to a hunk of metal, it was also occasionally true.

Well, that had been a swift and decisive response, Drakat reflected. He wondered if the 'shoot first' response was unique to the Enterprise's captain, or a common response of Federation ships to apparent hostility by an unknown force.

"Unknown vessel." A male voice said. Drakat presumed it to be the Enterprise's captain, though they did not identify themself. "You have perpetrated a hostile act against a colony world under the protection of the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets. You will cease hostilities and leave the area immediately. This is your only warning."

"Well well well." Drakat said, almost purring. "Let the game begin. Begin the first attack pattern."

"Yes sir." The navigator confirmed.

Now the fun truly began. They would go through a few attack patterns, and see how the Enterprise responded. This would give them, at the very least, vital information on how the Enterprise operated. It could also give them hints as to how the Federation fleet in general would respond to similar acts of aggression. It would merely need to be determined if they would respond in a like manner, or the exact opposite.

Drakat's navigator began the first pattern, weaving to one side and attempting to fire on the planet. The Enterprise immediately interposed itself between Drakat and the planet and opened fire again, forcing his navigator to veer off.

"Second pattern." Drakat commanded.

This time, the navigator aimed at the Enterprise and engaged in an attempt to draw the Enterprise away from its protective stance over the planet. Interestingly, the Enteprise made no attempt to follow. They stayed firmly between Drakat and the planet and merely shifted on their axis to optimize their ability to attack if Drakat attempted to fire on the planet again.

"Third pattern."

This involved more feinting, though this time in an apparent attempt to get close enough to land on the planet. This was greeted with more shooting. This time, the shooting was concentrated on a single spot - an obvious attempt to overwhelm the ship's shields. Drakat's navigator quickly swung the ship around to shield the weakened section of shield from further incoming fire until the engineers could compensate.

That was ... fascinating to Drakat. Because the section chosen? Had been over the give-away glow of their engine on one side.

Cardassian scientists had worked long and hard to overcome some of the inherent weaknesses in traditional engines - especially warp drives. Eventually, they had succeeded in formulating an engine that did not need to be at a remove from the rest of the ship, the way Federation warp nacelles did. While there was no way to completely hide the engines, the tell-tales on Cardassian ships had been reduced to what appeared, at a distance, to be large glowing panels.

Drakat had no idea if the Enterprise captain, gunner, or someone else aboard the ship had been rightly able to divine the location of his ship's engines or if it had been a lucky guess. Either way, it had been an inspired choice of target.

"Fourth pattern." Drakat commanded.

They'd barely begun to move when they were met by a hail of weapon's fire in a wide spread across their shield. The navigator immediately tried to get them out of range of the Enterprise's batteries. They'd barely begun to back off when they got an unwelcome surprise. Four Klingon ships - one of which was even a warship - decloaked around them. One Klingon ship was below them, one above them, the warship was behind and the last ship was on their right. With the Enterprise dead ahead, they were left with only one uncontested escape route. The route, interestingly enough, that led to the Neutral zone and out of Klingon territory.

Then the Enterprise hailed them again for the first time after their initial attempt was ignored.

"Unknown ship. You have about thirty seconds to get out of here before the Klingons lose their tempers and start shooting." The man told them. The message was repeated - in a woman's voice - in several more languages.

Drakat did not doubt the Enterprise captain was in earnest. All four Klingon ships had arranged themselves to as to be able to fire at Drakat's ship. Given that they had accomplished what they had come here for, Drakat was content to yield the field. They would be back. With greater numbers and a far more detailed plan of attack now that they had more information to go on. Drakat looked forward to it, and sincerely hoped he would be included in the larger force.

"Plot a course back to Cardassia. Maximum warp." Drakat commanded.

His navigator complied, and a few short moments later they warped out of there.

At maximum warp, it took them only a couple hours to return to Cardassia. Drakat was immediately commanded to appear before the Central Command with his preliminary report on the engagement. As soon as they had attained orbit, Drakat beamed himself down.

Once before the Council, he spoke.

"The Federation has turned its eyes to the Klingons and Romulans almost exclusively." He told them. "Getting across Federation space was criminally easy. We were neither detected nor challenged the entire trip. The Neutral Zone was very well monitored, but given the news that the Federation and The Empire have reached an accord, I anticipate that may change within the next six months to a year, in favor of more heavy patrols surrounding Romulan territory."

He tapped the table before him thoughtfully. "Of the general fleet response, I cannot say. The first ship we encountered was cautious in the extreme, opting for attempts at communication and a warning shot when that failed. The Enterprise, on the other hand, had a far more aggressive stance, and did not hesitate to fire on us. I suspect they were holding back somewhat - they did not penetrate our shields, and given the reports I've seen of their capabilities, they ought to have been able to do so at some point in the attack given how much they were shooting at us. Whether this was a response unique to the Enterprise or would be something we would be faced with against all Federation ships in a known-to-be-hostile engagement is impossible to judge accurate, but given the response the Enterprise had to the Romulan ship, I think it safe to say that aggression and if at all possible overwhelming force will definitely be the Enterprise's first response to antagonism."

"Your recommendation?" The Council wanted to know.

"I strongly recommend further forays for information. Test their border and their responses at several points in different ways to see if the data so far collected is unique or not." Drakat said instantly. "I also recommend, if such an ambition is deemed feasible, that a small fleet of warships make their way into the neutral zone. From there, it would be possible to attack either the Federation, the Klingons, or the Romulans and sow discord and chaos among them. Even if the Neutral zone is taken down, the fleet would be safe enough, as there are no monitoring facilities inside the zone, and it would take time to arrange for coverage in the area."

"It will be taken under advisement." Drakat was told. Which, he knew amounted to 'good idea we'll do it.' "In the meantime, you and your crew are permitted leave for a week."

As a reward for a job well done, it was a welcome one. Drakat hadn't seen his family since his promotion to Gul.

Drakat's home was a modest affair at one end of the family compound. The small size reflected both his status and the general Cardassian aesthetic of not wasting materiel if it could be avoided.

He was greeted by his wife of five years. He had met Onetta while still in school. She'd caught him mucking about with a training engineering panel, and had started scolding him for messing with something he couldn't possibly understand, as a mere dumb male. Drakat had snapped back. It had been the beginning of a very long, thoroughly delightful courtship.

Arguing was both an artform and a pasttime for Cardassians. It was also a major component in finding a mate. The arguments were as much about judging a person's level and depth of knowledge as it was their ability to turn words against an opponent. The first indicated raw intelligence - always a much-desired trait in a mate. The second, though, indicated a person's cunning and charisma, without which intelligence did only so much good. Without the cunning and will to put intelligence to use, it went to waste.

Onetta had borne them a child early in the marriage, a girl now nearly three years of age. It was she that got to Drakat first, despite Onetta having been the one to open the door.

"Father! I completed the Fourth Permutation!" Kamil crowed.

Drakat smiled fondly down at her, and patted her on the head. "Well done, Kamil." He congratulated. The Fourth Permutation was part of a set of mathematical formulae that formed the backbone of higher learning in the sciences. There were seven permutations that female children needed to complete before their seventh birthday in order to move on to more complex subjects in their fields. The boys, with their focus elsewhere, were only required to complete the first two permutations, as they had no need for the more advanced mathematical formulae presented in the later Permutations. Kamil, in having completed the Fourth Permutation before her third birthday, was ahead of schedule.

Onetta greeted him with a discreet touch to his neck ridges once he was inside their home. Drakat returned the gesture.

"You will be pleased to know, Onetta, that I have been given a week's leave." He told her.

"Indeed. And what were you required to do to earn this?" She wanted to know.

Ahhh, the sweet sound of a wife itching for an argument after a long absence. It was going to be a wonderful week, Drakat reflected.

The two of them fell into an almost playful sniping as Onetta finished preparing the evening meal. By mutual agreement, they let Kamil dominate the discussion at the table, as she was bubbling over with her pride in her accomplishment. It was only right that she get to show off her newfound knowledge, even if Onetta knew all the Permutations already.

She had even seen fit to let Drakat try his hand at some of the Third Permutation equations, many years ago now. He had done 'well enough for a man', which he rightly judged meant he had done better than she'd expected him to. He had only the faintest inklings of the formulae presented in the Fourth Permutation.

Onetta had always been amused by Drakat's interest, however slight or lackadaisical, in engineering. She had had no problem in both humoring his interest and mocking him mercilessly for it. It was but one of the reasons Drakat had been attracted to her.

(_)(_)(_)

Sovok glowered at the communications device.

Sovok was but one of many undercover Romulans operating in Federation space. He had been born on Romulus, with a very different name, and had enjoyed scholastic success before being chosen as a very young man to act as an undercover agent. He had then spent several decades building an apparently Vulcan life on the outskirts of the Federation.

And therein lay the problem.

The biggest risk with long term undercover operatives was that they would go native. There was never a way to know in advance who would do so, or why. There were nearly as many reasons as there were people who went native.

Sovok had never really put much stock in being Romulan. He'd barely been twenty when he'd been chosen to go undercover - hardly any length of time for him to get attached to a home world and way of life he hadn't seen since he'd left. Now, nearly forty years after he'd left, he'd been contacted with instructions.

Passing on such snippets of information as had crossed his path had been one thing. Out here in the boondocks it wasn't like he heard or saw much of value. Actively working his way deeper into society, with the understanding that eventually he would be forced out of what had become his life and have to return to Romulus - a place now as foreign and inexplicable to him as the wider galaxy had been to his twenty-year-old-self - was something else entirely.

He was going to have to decide if he would do it. Then he was going to decide if he *could* do it. What the Romulan government wanted him to do might not even be possible. There were differences between Vulcans and Romulans - physical, detectable differences. Sovok wouldn't put it past either the remnants of the Vulcan council or the Federation to scan every applicant to make sure they were actually Vulcan. If they did, any Romulan trying to sneak deeper into Vulcan society was going to be caught.

He was going to have to think about this. Long and hard. Fortunately, he had a ready-made excuse for not acting immediately. It would be some weeks before a transport ship would arrive at this remote world and make it possible for Sovok to leave. He would have until then to make up his mind what he'd do once he was actually on the transport. He could either disappear completely, breaking all ties with the Romulan govenment, try for the Vulcan colony as a refugee and not report in, try for it and report in, or something else.


	17. Gambits

Gambits

A/N: [[Spoken Klingon]]

(_)(_)(_)

He and his crew had been having a blast on Q'onoS, Jim knew. He'd not seen hide nor hair of Scotty since the first day, though Scotty had been conscientious about reporting in. Sulu had been nearly as bad, and while Spock and Bones hadn't found quite as much to entertain them, they'd still managed to find things they enjoyed. Uhura had even managed to rustle up some Klingons from colony worlds and the far edges of the continent (and the islands) here on Q'onoS and had begun the process of adding regional and planetary dialects to her Klingon dictionary. Chekov had gotten pulled into some of the classes for future gunners in Klingon ships, and was both learning about Klingon ship weapons, and a few new tactics they might just end up utilizing at some point.

Really, there'd been remarkably little discontent from the Klingons regarding both their presence and the purpose of their presence. Oh, there'd been some, and Jim fully expected there to be more given a bit more time but there wasn't much as of yet. Of course, the fun times stopped pretty quickly when they got a message from one of the space stations close to the Neutral Zone about a mystery ship headed into Klingon territory. Jim immediately contacted Maktor after receiving the space station's warning.

"The two space stations nearest where the ship came through couldn't identify it. The design is completely unknown to us, including ships encountered by our various member races, but not Starfleet. This is what they got as a visual of it. Have your people seen anything like this before?" Jim asked, then transmitted the image of the mystery ship.

[[No.]] Maktor said after several moments of checking it out. [[There is no ship like this known to us. Did your station have any idea where it was heading?]]

"Unfortunately no. The ship went to high warp, and they lost it within a second. It could have stopped anywhere inside the Neutral Zone and changed direction. Heck, it might not even be headed into the Empire anymore."

Maktor eyed him for a moment. [[That is not what you think.]]

Jim shook his head. "Nope. I think they're headed somewhere in the Empire. Somewhere close to the Zone, is my bet. The Empire and the Federation both got socked in the jaw by Nero, and most of the quadrant - and most of Beta quadrant too - know it. There's bound to be more than a few folks who are going to think this is a perfect time to see if either of us is as scary as we seem. Add in the fact that your people are known at least in some circles to be seeking full membership in the Federation. Anyone that is aware of the Federation and Empire's history is either going to want to see just how well we work together, whether we'll work together at all, and if they can make us distrust each other and shatter the chances of the Empire joining the Federation."

Maktor nodded. [[We are agreed.]] He admitted. [[I have the same thoughts. However, there are a number of choices of target near the Zone. Each is as likely as the next, depending upon what criteria this unknown is using to pick their target.]]

"So we keep an ear out for any trouble." Jim said. "I and my ship are more than willing to help."

Maktor nodded. [[I will send what warships I can to the worlds nearest the Zone, and as many of the refitted cargo ships as can get there in the next couple hours.]] And Maktor logged off.

Jim had beamed aboard the Enterprise when the beta shift bridge crew had alerted him to the message. Now he recalled his command crew. Less than half an hour after they'd all returned to their bridge stations, Maktor contacted them again.

[[We have lost communications with one of our colony worlds and the ship sent to protect it before your arrival in the Empire. Sending coordinates. The Bakel, one of our surviving warships, is en route and will arrive in fifteen minutes. Several refitted cargo ships are also en route, and will arrive in about fifteen minutes.]] Maktor told him, then gave him the names of the cargo ships, and the frequency on which to contact them and the warship, so they could coordinate a defense of the colony.

Jim took a few precious seconds to check over the information on the world and the ships that would be aiding in the defense. The Enterprise was by far the fastest and best-armed of the ships available. Jim quickly decided to take advantage of that. They would get there first, and at the very least keep the unknown ship distracted until backup could arrive. They might even be able to defeat the ship, but with no knowledge as to its capabilities, Jim wasn't going to count on that.

"Right - Chekov, I'm going to want you to ready a wide spread of shots - like you did to destroy the Narada's bombs. Skim them between the usual orbital range and the planet along this curve here." He tapped the map. "The communications satellite relay is here, the main mine is here, and the main town is a short distance from the mine. Those are going to be the main targets of an attacker. The array is probably already gone, accounting for the lack of contact, so that leaves the mine and town.". We have no idea what the fate of the guard ship is but at this point it's safer to assume the ship is destroyed rather than count on assistance from that quarter.

"Will do, Captain." Chekov said. "I will have us ready before we get there."

Chekov was as good as his word, as he managed to prepare the spread of shots before they got there. Better yet, Jim's guess at to the likely positioning of the unknown ship was right on the money, and they managed to force it away from the planet.

"Start scanning, Spock. I want to know their mothers' maiden names before all is said and done." Jim said. That was, obviously, hyperbola, but it got the point across. "Sulu, get us between them and the planet, and make sure we stay there."

Spock had actually begun to scan the second they dropped out of warp.

"The vessel is roughly the same size as a Klingon K'vort class warship." Spock said after the initial scans started. "I am reading a warp drive different from our own or what the Klingons and Romulans employ. Exact workings are unknown, but it seems to not be inimical to life when used in close proximity to lifeforms, allowing them to integrate their warp engines into their ship. Armaments unknown, but it is safe to presume them to be comparable to a K'vort class ship or better. The ships exhibits 1.18 gravity, and a oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere, though that is to be expected. Space going life forms all seem to come from M-class planets."

Jim had noticed that. Every spacegoing being so far known had come from a so-called M-class planet. That is, a planet with gravity, atmosphere, and other conditions similar enough to each other that the inhabitants of those planets could live on another race's planet with minimal adjustments or issues. It was ... odd. You'd think that in a galaxy filled to the brim with planets of all descriptions, beings from planets completely incompatible with M-class planet life would also manage to reach the stars. Ah well, maybe they just hadn't encountered any yet.

Jim gave a grim smile. "Right, let's give these guys one last chance to back off and go home before we ruin their day, shall we?"

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him. "The space station would have issued a warning."

"Yeah, I know. Humor me. And let me know when our backup's in communication range. I have a plan in mind, provided these guys decide not to play nice."

Jim issued his warning. "Unknown vessel. You have perpetrated a hostile act against a colony world under the protection of the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets. You will cease hostilities and leave the area immediately. This is your only warning."

Sure enough, the warning got ignored. Well, he'd had to try. He'd figured they would ignore it, but he'd had to try. Then the unknown ship started to move.

"Keep us between them and the planet, but do *not* leave orbit." Jim said.

He watched as the ship jockeyed for a new position from which to (possibly) shoot at the planet. Sulu deftly interposed the Enterprise between the ship and the planet.

"They are preparing to open fire." Spock warned.

"Chekov!" Jim didn't have to say more than that. Chekov, the bright boy, was ahead of him, and shot at the now definitely enemy ship. It promptly veered off.

"Receiving transmissions from the Klingon ships, captain." Uhura said. "They're still about ten minutes out, but wanting to know where they're needed."

Jim gave a toothy grin. "Tell them to come in cloaked. I want them to surround the ship on all but the side we're on and one other, and be ready to blast it to atoms if it gets really aggressive. I'll signal them when it's time to decloak."

Uhura nodded, then turned her attention back to her console. Her voice was a low drone in the background for a few moments.

"They are aiming at us, captain." Spock warned.

"Evasive maneuvers, but do not allow them to draw us away from the planet!" Jim said. "And Sulu, do what you can to maximize our firing angles while you're keeping us out of their line of fire."

"Yes sir."

"They are swinging wide around us, captain. It appears as if they are attempting an orbital approach." Spock said.

"Oh no they don't." Jim practically growled. "Spock, give Chekov the coordinates for their engines. Chekov, do your best to take their engines out."

"Yes captain."

"Aye, captain."

Chekov hammered at the spot over one of the engines, and the ship swung away, shielding the weakened section of shield and the part of the ship under it from further incoming fire.

By this time, Jim was starting to see something of a pattern. It looked rather a lot like he and the Enterprise were being tested. Jim ... was not happy about that. Not in the least. Oh, he'd known good and well that someone, somewhere, would test the Enterprise's mettle. That didn't mean he had to like it in the least. Fortunately, Uhura caught his attention right about then.

"The Klingon ships are in position, captain." Uhura told him.

"Excellent. Tell them the next time that ship so much as twitches, they can decloak, but do not fire unless they do." Jim said, his smile going grim and wicked.

Barely a minute after that, the enemy ship started to make another move.

"Full spread, Chekov. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of these guys."

The Klingon ships were half a breath behind the Enterprise in their reaction times, decloaking seconds after the spread of shots found their marks. Jim gave Chekov an approving, toothy grin.

"Open hailing frequencies, Uhura. And translate this into as many languages as you can manage."

Uhura cocked an eyebrow at him but obeyed immediately. "You're on."

"Unknown ship. You have about thirty seconds to get out of here before the Klingons lose their tempers and start shooting."

Uhura immediately started translating. She hit Klingon, Romulan, and Orion that Jim immediately recognized, and three others that sounded familiar but that he couldn't immediately name. Then she did two more that he didn't recognize at all.

There was no response. Not that Jim had been expecting one at this late juncture, but it had been worth a shot. Between one moment and the next, the ship darted out of the only hole they'd been left to escape from, and disappeared into high warp a few seconds after that.

"Contact the Klingons, and thank them for their assistance." Jim told Uhura. "Tell them that any further orders will come from Maktor, or whoever normally gives them their orders. We'll stay in orbit for the rest of the day just to be sure the ship doesn't come back. I don't think it will, but better safe than sorry."

Uhura nodded, then passed on the message.

Jim glanced over at Spock. "Thoughts, Mr. Spock?"

"It would seem that the test of the situation in the Federation and Klingon Empire that you anticipated has come to pass." Spock said. "It is ... troubling ... that the test would come from a previously unknown quarter. Logic would dictate that a far more well-known opponent would take up the challenge first. Perhaps even the Romulans, for all their apparent current stance of uninvolvement in galactic affairs."

Jim nodded. "The question becomes - who were they, and where are they from? This is pretty far inside the Klingon Empire from the next nearest border in either direction. That wasn't a Romulan ship, or even vaguely Romulan in design, so the odds of it being a prototype ship of theirs is very small. Likewise, the odds of a ship getting all the way through their territory without being seen is not good."

"In contrast." Spock said. "Much of the Klingon border that is not along the Romulan or Federation borders is unguarded. However, much of their expansion has been in that direction in the recent past. If there was a spacegoing race close enough to their borders to have found out about the state of the Klingon fleet, they would know what that race's ships look like."

Jim nodded. "Which argues for someone from further out. Maybe across the Federation border. We haven't really guarded our entire border all that zealously - just the border we share with the Romulans and Klingons. Much of space in the other direction is unexplored by any currently known party, so it's entirely possible for someone from out that way to come this way. It's even possible for them to have reached as far as the stations monitoring the Zone without being seen if they're careful." He sighed. "And I seriously doubt that Maktor would lie to us about recognizing the ship. His Empire is way too vulnerable for him to want to withhold information that will help us protect his people."

"Agreed." Spock said. "So logic dictates that our unknown opponent is from unknown sectors on the far side of the Federation. Unfortunately, the likelihood of gaining further information is very slim. We will be forced to wait and see if there is another encounter."

"And I'm willing to bet my commission there will be." Jim said. "And soon. Whoever that was, whatever guiding force is behind them, they're not going to give up this fast, or this easily. They got at least some sort of information from this little foray, the same as we did. They'll put it to use eventually."

Jim glanced around. "Anybody spot anything they want to add?" He asked.

"The gambits they tried were pretty basic." Sulu offered. "See if we'd fall for obvious feints, see if we could be drawn away from someplace we'd decided to protect, and see what we'd do with an attempt to land. It was almost like they stripped things down to the very basics, to eliminate as many variables that would need to be interpreted as possible. I'm willing to bet the fourth attempt - the one we didn't let them complete - would have been something equally simple. Maybe an attempt to see what we'd do if we came under serious fire, or something like that."

"And they eliminated one variable simply by refusing to talk." Uhura said. "It's possible they didn't understand, but they could still have made an attempt to talk if they'd wanted to."

"Navigating was similarly simple." Chekov agreed. "They could have done any number of maneuvers, but they did not."

Jim nodded. "Which implies a fairly methodical approach to investigation and/or problem solving." He agreed. "And while that doesn't really tell us that much overall, it's at least something. Might help us anticipate what they'll try next."

There were several nods around the bridge.

"Right, so ... give that a think, and whatever you come up with, let me know. We can add the ideas to a file, and if any of them actually happen, it'll give us an even better idea of what we're dealing with." Then he punched the comm button on his console. "Scotty."

"Aye Captain?" Scotty asked.

"The colony's main mine took a bit of a hit before we arrived. Grab some volunteers and let's go dirtside, see if they need help and are willing to accept it."

"Will do, Captain."

"Spock, Uhura, with me. Sulu, you have the conn." Jim said. He'dve let Uhura have it, but she wasn't as good with combat as Sulu was, and he wanted the best when it came to combat in the center seat if the mystery ship came back. Besides, he needed Uhura for translating still. The translators they'd put together worked, but they didn't replace translation-by-being. Computers were good, but they couldn't read facial expression, tone, or body language, and with the Klingons, that was as much a part of their language as the actual words.

Scotty met them at the transporter room with three of his subordinates.

"Same formation as we used to meet Maktor, Uhura, Spock, Scotty." Jim said, then pointed at the most senior of the remaining techs. "You stay behind or beside Scotty." He pointed to the other two. "You two stay on my left, one after the other behind Uhura, or beside, whichever there's room for."

Everyone took their assigned places, though the three engineers all looked a little bewildered at the whole thing. Jim reminded himself to explain later, then had the transporter tech beam them down.

The colony's leader - Jim really needed to learn what they called themselves - met them when they beamed down.

[[Captain Kirk]] The man greeted. [[I am Vallek.]]

"Greetings, Vallek." Jim said. "I know your colony took at least one hit before we got here, so I decided to see if you and your people needed a hand cleaning up the mess."

Vallek eyed him for a moment before finally nodding. [[We do. The mine has been destabilized rather badly, and we do not have the materiel on hand to fix the problem.]]

"Scott." Jim said, and Scotty stepped out of their little formation. "This is my engineer, Lieutenant Scott. He and his subordinates will do what they can to assist your own people."

Scotty nodded, and motioned for the other three engineers to break ranks and follow him. The four of them took off towards the mines not too far away.

[[You are a curious human, Captain Kirk]] Vallek said.

Jim grinned. "Not as much as you might think, Vallek. There's a lot more like me, back on Earth."

Vallek snorted, but then jerked his head, indicating for Jim, Spock, and Uhura to follow him. They obeyed, following him down what was apparently the main street of the main town on this world. Vallek led them to a building that looked superficially like the Great Hall, just newer and much reduced in scale.

Once inside, they were greeted by a couple other Klingons, none of whom gave their names.

"What do you know of the enemy that attacked us?" Vallek wanted to know once everyone had found a seat around a meeting table.

"Virtually nothing." Jim admitted. "The ship isn't like anything anyone in Starfleet or from general Federation ships has ever mentioned encountering. They did not answer our hails, and did not make any attempts to communicate that my comm officer could detect. Their approach to the attack suggests a methodical approach to investigation at the very least, possibly also combat itself, but with only the one incident to go on, it's hard to say. The only other thing unique about them is that they seem to have come up with an engine that obviates the need for the warp engines to be separated from the rest of the ship. Whether that level of technology exists uniformly across all aspects of even ship design is impossible to tell."

[[No idea where they came from?]] Vallek asked.

"Not for sure." Jim admitted. "Maktor told us your people have nothing about a ship like that, and we figure you'd know if there were any viable threats on the far side of the Empire from the Federation, as most of your expansion took place in that direction. So either they're from way, way beyond anywhere your ships have been, or more likely, they're from the far side of the Federation somewhere. Unfortunately, that involves a *lot* of territory that hasn't been explored yet by the Federation."

Vallek nodded. [[You speak sense]] He said.

"We'll be hanging about for at least the rest of today." Jim told him. "Probably for a few days beyond that, depending on how bad the situation at your mine is." He gave the man a look. "Did you loose many?"

"None." Vallek said. "A shift was due to begin about five minutes after the attack, so most of the workers had begun to make their way out of the mine, and the new shift had not yet gotten in. There were injuries, but no deaths.]]

"Well, that's good." Jim said, honestly relieved. Enough Klingons had died recently. They didn't need to add more to the number.

Jim, Spock, and Uhura didn't spend all that long on the colony. They'd just gone down long enough to introduce Scotty and get him and his engineers where they were needed. Once they'd spent enough time with Vallek to not seem rude, they made their excuses and headed back to the Enterpise.

The rest of the day went very quietly. Chekov and Sulu spent much of it in a quiet debate over the possible next moves of their unknown enemy. About two hours into their debate, Chekov started to appeal to Uhura, only to realize what he was doing - and where - and clam up.

Jim just laughed. "So long as it doesn't interfere with anyone's jobs, go right ahead and debate."

It took a bit for them to relax again, and then a bit longer to take him at his word, but before too terribly long, even Spock got dragged into the good-natured argument over what might happen next.

Jim mostly stayed quiet, happy to let his crew have the bulk of the fun. He spent most of the time noting down actions and theories and who came up with them. That was as much to reward the person who ended up being right as to keep track of who had been right, and see if they could predict the next move after that. If someone proved consistently able to predict this unknown's actions, Jim wasn't going to be shy about taking full advantage of that ability.

The next day was equally as quiet. Thankfully, while the mine had been destabilized, it hadn't been anywhere near as bad as had been feared once the debris had been cleared out. Scotty and the engineers - both those from the Enterprise and the Klingons - were able to stabilize the affected tunnels - and well into apparently unaffected tunnels, just in case - with the addition of some materiel from the Enterprise by the end of the day.

With nothing having happened - indeed, there was not so much as a sniff of any problem - Jim somewhat reluctantly decided to return to Q'onoS. Maktor had finally chosen the Klingon representatives to the Federation Council, as well as an ambassador, and Jim and the Enterprise were going to be taking them to Earth.

Jim got a bit of a surprise when they returned to Q'onoS, in the form of a young Klingon about the same age as Chekov, that arrived with the Ambassador, the representatives, and all sorts of luggage.

"High Chancellor Maktor said you were interested in having a Klingon aboard your vessel for a time, and asked for volunteers. I was chosen. I am Kortel" The young Klingon stated.

The kid's Standard was stilted, but understandable. Jim figured the comment about being chosen probably answered why Jim was seeing barked knuckles, bruises, and a couple cuts on the kid. He'd give good odds that deciding who got the spot was settled with a fight.

"You understand you won't be a part of the command structure?" Jim asked.

"Yes." Kortel responded.

"Good. You'll have the same access any Federation citizen would have to the various parts of the Enterprise. Which means you can go pretty much everywhere but the bridge, the engine room, and the science labs unescorted. If you want a look at the engine room, an escort can be arranged, same for the science labs. The bridge is, unfortunately, off limits to all civilian personnel." Jim told him.

Or, well, the bridge was off limits to most civilians. Occasionally, an especially influential Ambassador or other non-Starfleet personnel got to be on the bridge. Generally, though, it was off limits.

Kortel nodded. "It would be the same on our ships." He said.

"Right, if you gentlemen will follow me, we'll get you situated." Jim said. Then he turned to the tech. "Get some yeomen up here to bring the luggage to the VIP quarters." There were entirely too many boxes for him to even think about doing it himself, even if he had a feeling acting as stevedore would make the Klingons give him funny looks.

He led the Ambassador and the new Councilors to the quarters intended for VIP visitors and made sure they had what they needed to be comfortable for the next couple of days. By the time he'd done that, the yeomen had arrived with the luggage. Kortel snapped up one of the boxes, but the rest went into the rooms the Ambassador and representatives would be using. From there, he brought Kortel to the less expansive quarters meant for guests who weren't VIP's.

"You can have these quarters." He told Kortel. "Make yourself at home. If you need anything, let me know. Most of the items on the replicator won't be familiar, but that will be changed shortly - it won't take long to put in the necessary information. That said, I can't speak for the quality, though I'm sure that's a fairly familiar complaint. Replicated food just never tastes quite right."

Kortel barked a laugh and nodded. "Agreed."

"Now - I'll assign someone to be your liaison, someone that you can ask questions of if things come up, or let know that you need something. That doesn't mean you can't ask other people questions, just that they'll be available for that at any time, where other folks might not be."

Kortel nodded, and then put down the box he'd been carrying, that Jim assumed was his personal belongings. Or at least the start of them.

"Oh, and if you want to bring weapons aboard - just let me know. I'll clear it with the transporter techs, and make sure our chief of security knows they're aboard."

That had Kortel's eyebrows going up. "I may bring more than my d'k tahg?"

Jim had no idea what that last word was, but he nodded. "Yes, you may. I know Klingons have weapons that are passed from family member to family member - so if you have anything like that and don't want to part with it for the time you'll be aboard the Enterprise, you can bring it. I just ask no disruptors - we have phasers if you want and need an energy weapon for defense."

That, and it would force the kid into actually asking for a phaser. Jim knew there was very, very little he could do to keep the Klingons from having knives and daggers on hand, but he really didn't want the kid to have a disruptor on him. Jim figured letting them bring things up openly would be the better course than having them find a way to sneak stuff in. This way, they'd at least have a vague idea of what sort of weaponry their Klingon guest might be packing.

Kortel looked pleased, and Jim figured they'd be getting a request for at least one more box of stuff for the kid. Jim didn't mind. Kortel'd be on the ship for at least a week - it'd take that long just to run to Earth, drop off the Ambassador and the representatives, then turn around and bring Kortel back. If Kortel wanted to hang about for longer, he could be aboard for as long as a couple months.

Jim already planned, if the kid decided to stay put for more than a week or two, to slowly integrate him into the lower echelons of the crew command structure. Jim wasn't one to waste a willing mind and pair of hands if they were going to be in his sphere of influence for a while.

Besides, doing that would prove to the naysayers that Klingons who were already trained at their Academy could be integrated into existing Starfleet crews. Which was going to be a big concern at least for the Klingons, because they were going to have a whole lot of graduates and no ships to put them on for the next two years at minimum, even with the Federation giving the Klingons as much materiel as they needed to replenish their fleet. Even hustling it, building a ship took time.

Jim had a feeling that a couple thousand trained warriors with no jobs just hanging around was a recipe for disaster, so the more Klingons they could take off the Empire's hands until their fleet was rebuilt, the better. Jim planned to advocate that the officer exchange program start getting put together immediately, rather than waiting a month or two. The sooner they got that off the ground, the better.

His passengers settled, Jim returned to the bridge, and informed Uhura to expect at least one call dirtside from Kortel, to get more of his belongings.

"Possibly the others as well. Not sure how much of the stuff they intend to take with them they brought with them when they beamed aboard. They're going to be on Earth for quite a while, after all." Jim said.

Uhura nodded. "True. So I'll keep an ear out, and organize transportation when it's needed."

"I think Cargo Hold three has room, if they bring up enough stuff to need to stash it somewhere other than their quarters." Jim said.

"You are correct, Captain. Cargo Hold Three is currently empty, as we have not been sent on a long-term mission, Holds One and Two have been sufficient to contain the materiel necessary for ship's functions and crew needs." Spock spoke up.

"I thought so." Jim said. "Just wasn't sure, because I doubled up on pretty much everything, so I wasn't sure if some of it had to be stashed in Hold Three or not."

"Mr. Scott was able to organize the supplies such that Hold Three was unnecessary." Spock said.


	18. Reclamation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this even ... why did this insist on being written? I don't normally DO fluffy/cute. But warning - fluffy/cute ahead, as well as other less cuddly emotions.

Reclamation

(_)(_)(_)

Earth

Roughly four hundred and eighty miles or seven hundred and seventy three miles east and a little south of San Francisco lies one of the hottest, driest places on Earth, known as Death Valley.

It is perhaps unsurprising then that this - to humans - inhospitable spot had been ideal for Vulcans. The Vulcans had chosen the area known as Furnace Creek for their embassy. The area, which had boasted a ranch and tiny town before the Third World War broke out, had long since become unpopulated. The name had remained, however, and due to the region's unsuitability for residency, the ranch and town buildings had never been destroyed or torn down, and were still standing, if very dilapidated, when the area was signed over to the Vulcans.

What had once been a ranch and town sporting a population of less than fifty now boasted no less than two hundred Vulcans and another fifty or so beings of other races at any one time. On a normal day, there was upwards of a thousand Vulcans taking advantage of the Embassy's facilities and about half that number of beings from other races on the Embassy grounds for any of a number of reasons.

The small, dilapidated buildings had likewise been replaced with far more aesthetically appealing and imposing structures. The Embassy buildings could, from a suitable distance, be mistaken for a rock outcropping, their exteriors the same dun color and coarse texture as the ground around them. The buildings also possessed the sort of rounded edges rock exposed to wind and sand acquires, with no windows evident to spoil the illusion.

There were several buildings on the grounds. One sat next to the spaceship landing zone, and served as the travel check-point and temporary storage for goods either being taken off of or loaded onto the ships that landed there. There were four living facilities to either side of the landing pad. Two were designed for non-Vulcans, and possessed the sort of climate controls that non-Vulcans required to survive in the sort of heat present at the Embassy. One of these was intended for long-term residents of the Embassy, while the other was basically a short-term hostel for visiting non-Vulcan traders to stay in for the day or two it took to sell their wares. The other two buildings were meant for Vulcans. As with the non-Vulcan buildings, one was for the long-term residents of the Embassy, while the other was for short-term visitors. Then, of course, there was the Embassy proper, which held offices, meeting rooms, science labs, and other facilities.

During normal times, the Embassy was busy, but like the Vulcans themselves, the activity was fairly restrained and unhurried. That had changed instantly when Vulcan was destroyed.

The Embassy ground were now beyond existing capacity with people in residence. The non-Vulcan quarters all had people living in them in shifts, one set sleeping while the other two worked or took care of personal business. Ship traffic, which had amounted to two or three a day, had quintupled, with ships of all descriptions arriving either with Vulcans from various places around the galaxy or donated goods of all descriptions.

The Vulcan quarters were less cramped than their non-Vulcan counterparts, but only because Vulcans could comfortably exist in Death Valley's temperatures with just a tent over their heads if necessary. And it had become so in the wake of Vulcan's destruction, as the remaining survivors flocked to the Earth Embassy.

As much of the volunteer effort had gone to putting together more storage and living facilities as had gone towards assistance with therapy, obtaining required materiel for a colony, record-keeping, and keeping everyone fed and watered. Incredibly, despite the strain the Vulcans were under and the crowded, chaotic conditions at the Embassy there had been remarkably few unfortunate incidents, and those few there had been had been easily smoothed over.

Selik, despite the situation, loved it. He loved the bustle and busy-ness. After so long among humans and the Rihannsu, he had gotten used to their far more swiftly-paced and energetic lifestyles. It helped that he was presented with something he could throw himself into, which made the guilt and grief that ate at him so much easier to handle - or ignore, as the case might be, however illogical ignoring how he felt was.

It may have taken far too long for his taste, but Selik had eventually grown beyond the need to desperately cling to Vulcan logic as the only path. He could only hope his young counterpart would be more fortunate in that regard.

While Selik had found his knowledge to be of use in the initial stages of finding a potential colony world, and of continued use in smoothing any diplomatic tangles that cropped up, the use of those skills did not take up much of his time at this juncture.

He had found himself drawn to the children, especially those that had escaped Vulcan. They were as traumatized as their elders - and had far less training in hiding it.

That was where he had ended up today. The children had been housed on one floor of the temporary-housing building meant for Vulcans, with adult attendants living on the floor below. They welcomed him solemnly, but with more than a hint of relief in many cases. Selik was not all that surprised. He was, after all, far more tolerant of emotional excess than most of the caretakers were, though in the caretakers' defense, they weren't trying to be cruel. They just, like every Vulcan still alive, were a little to a lot raw around the edges and dealing with the childrens' more open grief was not easy.

He'd just settled himself in a chair at the end of the corridor, where the children could gather around him, when another adult arrived, with a babe in their arms.

"Greetings, Selik." The other Vulcan said.

"Another survivor?" Selik asked, indicating the babe.

"Yes. She was born the day before the cataclysm, and did not fare well in either the escape or the aftermath. She has now stabilized." The other Vulcan told him.

Selik nodded, and held out his hands. "I will take her. What is her name?" In all the confusion, it was all too possible that the babe's name and lineage information had been lost, but another name would have been given her.

"Her mother named her Saavik." The other Vulcan said, their tone so abruptly devoid of any hint of emotion that it fairly screamed distaste at the very best.

Selik froze mentally, even as he took the babe and tucked her firmly against his chest.

This was not possible.

Saavik ... the Saavik he had known, helped raise, and had eventually come together with to sate his Time when ... well, after that which he *still* had difficulty thinking about, even decades later. That Saavik had been born six years hence, in a place of horror and depravity and cruelty far from Vulcan.

This could not possibly be the same Saavik.

And yet ... and yet, Chekov. The Chekov of this reality was five years younger than the man Selik had known. Even this reality's Jim had been born before time, though not by nearly as much. Though fact that this child had been given a Rihannsu name ... something no Vulcan would do to a pure-blooded Vulcan child ... well. Even if it *wasn't* the Saavik Selik had known, the Healer's reaction indicated the babe was at least part-Rihannsu, as Saavik had been. Selik would not ... could not ... leave the babe to the fate it would face in this reality if she remained alone. She would need an advocate, a defender, More importantly, she would need someone who could accept her for who she was, and would not expect her to become the perfect Vulcan in penance for her mixed blood heritage, then punish her when she failed. That, Selik could do. And would do, gladly.

"She has none to claim her." Selik said. It wasn't a question.

The healer didn't bother to answer. They didn't need to.

"Then as I am the last of my House, I shall claim her." 

Ok, so Selik wasn't actually the last of his House - not by a long shot, even here in this reality where so many had died. Though he *had* been the end of one line of it in his reality, and unless things were even more different here than they seemed, it would be the same here.

The Healer looked horrified and scandalized. Enough so that even a non-Vulcan would be able to detect the emotions in their expression. 

Selik just cocked an eyebrow at them. "It is the way of IDIC, and at this juncture, the loss of any Vulcan blood is to be avoided." He pointed out.

The Healer bowed slightly, accepting Selik's point, if somewhat reluctantly. "I shall bring you the documentation required to begin the process of claiming her for your House." They said, and then turned and left.

Selik let out a breath. That was going to be interesting. Hopefully, his computer train would stand up to whatever investigation would be launched to determine his suitability as a surrogate parent. He glanced down at the babe.

"Greetings, Saavikam." He murmured, one long finger tracing her chin but avoiding her psi-points for now. That would have to wait. "I am Selik. I will be looking after you now."

For all she was only three months old, she, like all Vulcan children, understood far more than a same-age human counterpart at this point in both species' development. While Vulcans this young could not understand the context of most speech due to lack of reference, they learned fast and no Vulcan parent was so illogical as to engage in the peculiar human custom of 'baby talk'. 

Selik had been rather horrified when he'd discovered that particular bit of human illogic. How was a child to learn to speak properly when adults spoke to them in such a manner? Yes, human children developed more slowly, but they did still learn from the adults around them. It was appalling. As much as he had come to enjoy and even prefer humans, they still managed to baffle him more often than not.

Saavik regarded him with wide, calm eyes. Even without a parental link to her, Selik could sense her curiosity at the new face with which she had been presented.

Several of the other children drew closer, curious about the newcomer. Fortunately, they didn't seem to realize the implications behind Saavik's name for the most part, though a few of the elder children would recognize the name's Rihannsu origin. They said nothing about it if they did, so Selik let it be for now.

He spent most of the morning with Saavik tucked against his chest as he interacted with the other children. She seemed quite content to be there. Selik had a feeling that was probably because he was not exuding any negative emotions aimed at her. Oh, he was exuding negative emotions - they all were, yet - but not directed at her. The Healer that had brought her here would not have been alone in their disapproval of her existence.

Selik couldn't help but wonder how it came to be that she was born in hospital. He knew, better than most, that a number of disaffected Romulans had lived both on Vulcan and on Earth, having disavowed all links to the Romulan Empire. He also knew that because of the prejudice with which Romulans were viewed that such expatriates generally went to great lengths to avoid discovery. Going to a hospital, especially on Vulcan, all but guaranteed discovery. Still, if the mother had encountered difficulties with the delivery, she may not have had a choice in the matter. As much control as Vulcans and Romulans had of their bodies, they couldn't control *everything*, especially such things as umbilical cords wrapping around arms, legs, or necks and impeding the birth process or threatening the life of the babe.

The Healer returned just before lunch was served with the paperwork that would be required of Selik in order to adopt Saavik. Fortunately, such things were very minimal on Vulcan. They mostly amounted to a surety that one could financially support the raising of a child, when the prospective parent(s) were Vulcan themselves and had not been cast out of a House. It got a little more involved for non-Vulcan adoptees - who were extremely rare - but that was mostly to ensure that the prospective parent(s) understood what a Vulcan child's needs would be, and that the prospective parent(s) were not criminals.

Adoption was actually fairly rare on Vulcan. Not because parents rarely died before their children, but because of the House system. In the event of the death of parents, the children were absorbed back into the House at large and raised by whoever was willing. Because they were of the same House, this arrangement was not regarded as adoption. Adoption was reserved for the very rare cases when a child was not absorbed into a House automatically - usually the result of a pairing from Houses with less than congenial relations, or more rarely, they were from a very small House that got wiped out in a catastrophe. At that point, a third party would get involved and adopt the child into their own House and raise them.

In either case, children didn't remain orphans for long on Vulcan. In the distant past, they couldn't afford to - being an orphan had meant imminent death in the early days of Vulcan society. The desert was not kind even to those with the experience and knowledge to survive it, let alone children who had no such skills. 

With the near-constant wars depleting the population at regular intervals, every life had become precious, and the tribes - the precursors to the Houses - had made it a point to ensure the survival of their young, regardless of who the parents were. The logic of that position had been cemented in the days of Surak and hadn't been challenged since.

Indeed, all the children on this floor who had lost their parents had already been claimed by someone, whether from their birth House or another. The only reason they remained here, rather than living with their new guardian, was because of space issues. Though those issues would be easing in a few days, Selik knew.

The new colony world had been chosen, and in three day's time, construction crews and materiel would be heading for the colony to begin building homes and other structures. That exodus would see a large portion of the current population of the Embassy removed, considerably easing the crowded conditions.

Selik had been considering going with the first wave of builders - not as a builder himself, he was far too old for that, but as support personnel for the builders. With the advent of Saavik, however, he would remain here. A rough abode on a planet with unknown dangers was no place for an infant. He would remain here and assist with coordinating supplies and personnel heading for the colony from here.

After lunch, and having put Saavik down for a nap, Selik gathered the children for a lesson. Maintaining their scholastic efforts had become rather haphazard and more than a little difficult since Vulcan's destruction, as while the Embassy had a small educational facility, it was intended for the use of no more than ten students at a time - and for students far older than the children now in need of instruction. The latter problem had been easily enough dealt with, but the former was a real issue.

The teacher had been phased out of the Vulcan learning experience in favor of a computer instructor over a hundred years ago, which just made the problem that much more difficult. Selik had been the first to dispense lessons to the children in person. It hadn't taken long after he began for a number of the elder Vulcans, who had little to do to follow his lead. Between them, they were managing to teach everything the children would be learning, but it was a bit chaotic trying to ensure children of all ages got the educational attention they needed. That evening, he returned the completed paperwork to the appropriate office. As he was leaving the office that took care of such matters, he encounter Sarek.

Dealing with this reality's Sarek had been ... interesting ... for Selik. The man both was and was not his father. He had the same severe mien and intimidating reputation, but, Selik had perceived, for vastly different reasons. This Sarek had apparently succeeded in spite of all that had been thrown in his path, not because of it.

What had been oddest for Selik was seeing and hearing Sarek subjected to ... commentary ... regarding his wife and son. Oh, his own father had had the occasional comment about his preference for human mates thrown his way, but mostly it had been accepted. Not so here. Here, that choice was scorned and vilified nearly universally. Indeed, Selik could count on one hand the number of Vulcans he had heard speak of Amanda or Spock without censure.

For all that his relationship with his own father had been ... contentious ... much of their lives, Selik found himself having to resist the urge to rise to Sarek's defense. That would have been at best awkward, as Selik had not yet informed Sarek of the truth of his identity, and Sarek would wonder why a virtual stranger would defend him. Indeed, he had not yet decided if he would inform Sarek of the truth of his identity yet. Fortunately Sarek was not being hounded this particular evening.

"Greeting Selik. May I inquire what has brought you to the Embassy offices at this late hour?" Sarek asked.

"One of the last children to be cleared by the Healers was brought to the children's floor, and caught my interest. I am not yet so advanced in age as to find the raising of a child illogical, so I filled out the requisite paperwork to adopt her."

Sarek cocked his head just slightly. "Her? Ah, yes, I think I know the child of which you speak. The one named Saavik, correct?"

Selik had to work to keep from blinking, because there was a distinctly protective tone in Sarek's voice. "Indeed." Selik considered his choices, then with a sad mental laugh, decided to take a leap of faith. "I presume from your knowledge of her and interest in her, you had thought to do the same?"

"It had occurred to me." Sarek said. "I am uniquely suited to understanding the needs of a child of mixed ancestry." And despite the fact Sarek's expression and tone never changed, there was no mistaking the air of challenge to that statement, as if Sarek was *daring* Selik to say something derogatory.

"If I might speak with you in private, Ambassador?" Selik asked.

Sarek blinked, but that was the only evidence of any emotion regarding the sudden request. "Of course. My office is this way."

Sarek led him to one of the small offices on the floor. Unlike humans, Vulcans had never seen the logic in increasing the size of one's office in deference to one's position, regardless of whether or not the extra room was necessary to house additional materials. While Vulcan offices varied in size, the rooms were never larger than they needed to be to comfortably house whatever furniture and equipment was required, plus sufficient walking space.

Once the door was open, Selik leveled a look at Sarek. "What I have to tell you passes beyond all belief." He admitted. Because it did. It really, really did. "So that you accept the veracity of my tale, I would ask ... "

Sarek was ahead of him, one eyebrow climbing his forehead. "We will speak first, and then if I find myself sufficiently convinced of the necessity." He decreed.

So Selik told him. Everything that related to him being here, anyway. In a way, it was a relief. He'd told this reality's Jim just enough so that Jim would do what needed to be done. Sharing everything made him feel ... not quite so alone. To his credit, Sarek just listened, despite the rather incredulous tale Selik had to tell. When Selik finally wound down, it was well into the night.

Sarek regarded him quietly for several long moments before he spoke. "I do not need to touch your mind to know you speak truth." He said. "I had wondered why you seemed so ... familiar to me. Despite the differences in your ages, I see much of my son in you. I had dismissed it as wishful thinking, given the circumstances." He sighed. "I always knew I would outlive your mother, but it is good to know that another version of myself got to enjoy her for a good deal longer than I have."

"I must admit to some ... surprise ... on my own behalf." Selik said.

"That I am so accepting of my son's human traits?" Sarek guessed. "It seemed extremely illogical to me to love Amanda, yet disapprove of a child with her blood in their veins." Sarek flicked one hand slightly, temporarily dismissing the subject. "Now, you have claimed to be the last of a small House, yes?"

Selik nodded.

"Well. The House of Surak has always made a policy of absorbing those who have been deprived of a House by catastrophe, regardless of their age at the time. T'pau will be quite happy to add you to the House rolls, and young Saavik will be welcomed as well. It will also give you support and assistance in the raising of her, if it becomes required due to unexpected ill health, and provide a home and protection for her in the event of your death."

And it would bring Selik back into the House of his birth officially. In his home reality, that hadn't meant much to him. Here and now, it was a welcome tie.

"I will submit the paperwork first thing in the morning." Sarek said, then, in an almost amused tone. "Which is only a few hours away. We both require sleep to deal with the day tomorrow."

Selik couldn't argue with that. He'd have the raising of a newborn infant, and Sarek had the unenviable job of being one of the elders holding katras ... which reminded him.

"I do not know if it is possible to permit, but I have the training required to act as an Elder, if it becomes necessary for some reason." Selik said.

That made Sarek give him another raised-eyebrow look. "Indeed. It may become necessary. So far, none of the Elders are faltering under the load, but it may well become necessary to relieve one of us at a time for short periods before another Ark is completed. I will add your name to the list of possible backups. It will need to be confirmed by more than one Elder - none of us is trusting our logic or judgment in such a vital matter at the moment - but it can be arranged for T'Pau to be the second Elder to confirm your ability, to keep the knowledge of who you truly are within the smallest circle possible."

Selik nodded. "Then I will take my leave. I will need the energy to interact with Saavik."

Selik was just grateful that at his age, it wasn't really a question of when or how he'd gotten the training. He would eventually tell Sarek the whole tale of his life, but that could wait a while. Especially *that* part of the tale.

Despite the late hour at which he'd left Sarek's office, Selik did manage a few hours' sleep. His first stop was to the children's wing, to ascertain Saavik's well-being and see to her needs. She was awake and alert ... and hungry ... when he arrived. He tucked her into the crook of his arm and carried her down to the auxiliary mess hall that had been put up to deal with the sheer numbers of people requiring food each day.

Fortunately, Saavik was not the only infant of an age to require liquid nourishment, and Selik was able to obtain a bottle with no problems. Saavik wasted no time consuming her meal, projecting her pleasure loud enough for Selik to pick up on it despite not having a parental bond with her.

"Hush now, Saavikam." He murmured. "I know this is good, but try not to shout it so loudly." He had no intentions of forcing Vulcan restraints on her. He would teach them to her as a possible path for her to follow, yes, but he would not require it of her. That said, restraining her mental projections was a different discipline than the emotional restraint Vulcans practiced, and teaching her that would be a necessity no matter what path she followed as she grew. Projecting one's thoughts and emotions at others was just plain rude, regardless of what species was doing the projecting. Of course, she was unlikely to understand, as young as she was, but there was an off chance she would.

To his surprise, Saavik did quiet down mentally. Though whether that was because she was finishing the bottle or because she understood his request was definitely debatable. Once she'd finished, he returned the bottle to the recycling unit and headed back to the children's wing with her. He wouldn't know until lunch at the earliest if his request would be accepted, so there was no point in hanging about the Embassy proper with her.

He blinked when he discovered Sarek there. While Selik had encountered a number of the older Vulcans here, Sarek hadn't been one of them until now, though it was entirely possible they'd just missed each other with as busy as Sarek's schedule was.

He was sorely tempted to laugh when he realized that Sarek was here for Saavik. In between dealing with the children, Sarek confessed that he had gotten rather involved with Saavik during her convalescence.

"The babes' hurts and wants were easily soothed and provided for." Sarek told him. "It proved a balm to sorely tested control and logic in the first week or so. During that period, I realized she was being singled out, and began to take an interest in her welfare because of it. Unfortunately, my schedule makes taking in a young infant highly illogical, or I would have done so.

"What happened that she required almost four months to heal?" Selik wanted to know.

"The craft she was in was one of the last to escape." Sarek said. "Everyone on the craft suffered rather badly from injuries."

And, Selik knew, doubtlessly also suffered badly mentally thanks to their proximity to their dying fellows. Distance, whether emotional thanks to having few mental bonds or carrying extra katras, or physical distance from Vulcan had proved to be a factor in how much any one Vulcan had suffered from the loss of their world.

They collaborated on the day's lesson, with Selik taking the youngest of the children for more basic lessons while Sarek worked with the older children. A little after noon, they were joined by one of the officials from the Embassy.

"Your petition to adopt the child known as Saavik has been approved." They said. "T'pau has approved the addition of yourself and the child to the rolls of House Surak."

Selik thanked them, then shot a look down at Saavik, who had spent most of the morning, once again, in his arms.

"Well, Saavikam, it would seem that we are to be a family." Again, he thought, but didn't say aloud.

He got through the rest of the day, and brought her with him when he returned to his quarters. She was small enough that keeping her with him would not cause problems - at least not for the short length of time they'd be in the small room he'd been allotted. In another two days, they'd have more room to move.

He spent over an hour that night meditating, calming his mind in preparation for establishing a parental bond with Saavik. This, at least, was one thing he'd not had with the Saavik of his reality. She'd been old enough, and distrustful enough, to reject such a mental 'imposition' as she had seen it at the time, and Selik had not wanted to push the issue.

It had proved exceedingly fortunate, as a parental bond, no matter how long severed, would have made what came later impossible. And that would have damaged Saavik as much as himself. She had never quite trusted anyone else the way she'd trusted him, but even with him, that trust had had limits. The damage her early life had wrought had been too great to completely overcome. He sincerely doubted she would have been capable of a sexual relationship with anyone else. For his part, Selik could had barely been able to tolerate her touch during his Time after ... well, after. He'd have ended up killing anyone else - or himself. It had hardly been a love match, or an ideal relationship, but it had been better than nothing, for both of them.

He pushed those memories, those thoughts aside, along with everything else. When he was ready, he got up and picked Saavik up off his bed before sitting on it himself, then arranging her in his lap. There was no telling how long this process would take, and he was a bit too old to be kneeling on a floor mat for hours on end. Then he gently touched her psi-points, murmuring the appropriate words.

And oh. He'd never been in contact with such a young, unformed mind before. It was an unusual experience. But for all the lack of concrete concepts and the very simple language employed, he could understand her. Could feel her loneliness, a nebulous grief - aware something was missing but with no context to frame the loss. There was curiosity there too, aimed at him, and interest. A simple pleasure in his company, in his touch.

The bond spun between them with astonishing ease. Or perhaps, not so astonishing. They were both, after all, very alone in this world. It was a relief to them both to no longer be alone.

Selik sent her a gentle wave of comfort, safety, and affection and gave a delighted mental laugh when he immediately got a similar, if far more clumsily executed, wave in return that consisted entirely of a bubbling joy. Followed, in rapid succession, by a sense of sleepiness. He gently withdrew from her mind.

"Sleep, Saavikam. I will be here in the morning." He told her.

He carried her to the sleeping accommodations he'd arranged for her. At three months, while she understood the concept of 'stay put', actually doing it was rather hit or miss. Selik wasn't about to risk her falling off the bed if she decided to get adventuresome. Fortunately, he'd thought to arrange for something. Not a crib - there wasn't room for that in his quarters - but a smaller unit designed to sit on top of any convenient flat surface - in this case, his dresser. All that was left was to arrange pillows and blankets appropriately around her. Once she was settled, Selik headed for his own rest.


	19. Mind Over Matter

Mind Over Matter

(_)(_)(_)

Enterprise

Kortel spent much of the two day trip to Earth just getting used to the layout of the Enterprise - and to its crew. The crew did a lot of staring, much to Kortel's amusement. Though to his surprise, the staring was almost entirely non-hostile insofar as he could tell. A few folks didn't seem too happy to have him aboard, but weren't to the point of being hostile about it. Everyone else just seemed to be curious.

Kortel was fairly used to being stared at. Kortel's House was a very minor and small one more known for its merchants than its warriors. In a society of warriors, that had led to more than a few problems, despite the fact that merchants were necessary. Kortel had had to deal with more than his fair share of idiots in his childhood. He'd gotten used to being stared at, mocked, and otherwise treated like something foul that one scraped off one's boots.

That he had, as a result, been more fierce and given to 'normal' Klingon pasttimes as a child than was the norm in his House had been worthy of commentary and observation by his House, though that had mostly been approving and devoid of malice. Then, as a young teen, he had garnered the attention of one of his House's many more influential and high-ranked Klingon customers, who had seen fit to sponsor Kortel to the Academy. Attending the Academy would otherwise have been beyond his reach, due to his House's low rank and acknowledged lack of interest in warrior pursuits. 

He'd been watched at the Academy too, and by far less friendly eyes than those of the folks who had lived nearest his family's compound. Most of those at the Academy were from high or high-middle ranked warrior Houses. They looked down their noses at those from lesser Houses - all of whom had been sponsored by a 'greater' House - especially those from Houses not generally known for their warriors.

The only good news was that they were also generally far too cocky for their own goods. Kortel might have had a more warrior bent than most of his House, but he had still inherited the cunning and people skills that had made his House effective merchants. It made him better than most at reading his opponents and making the most of their weaknesses.

There was more, Kortel's House had learned, to life and to war than punching things in the face. It was a lesson that Kortel had learned at his father's knee, and one that had served him well. It was just too bad he didn't have a hope of entering the political arena. He had a feeling he would have been right at home in that milieu.

In the wake of the disaster that lost the Empire its fleet, Kortel had felt somewhat vindicated in his views. If someone had thought to do something other than charge in guns blazing! Well, things might still not have ended well, given that the Narada's captain had evidently been completely insane. But it might have gone better than it had.

He'd been stunned when he learned that the Chancellor had re-opened talks with the Federation for any reason at all. But even knowing that hadn't prepared him for humans waltzing around the city virtually (or actually) unescorted.

His House, unlike most Klingons, had had dealings with humans since the establishment of the Neutral Zone. Despite the Zone's existence and the antagonism, distrust and dislike on both sides of it, there had still been humans willing to trade with Klingon merchants, and vice versa. Kortel had never actually met any of the humans his family dealt with, as he'd been far too young to be included in any of the negotiations or actual trades, but he'd heard tales from his father.

So Kortel knew a bit more than the average Klingon did about humans, though not much more. He knew that they were devious and clever - nearly every bit as bad as Romulans. He also knew that while humans weren't warriors by Klingon standards, backing them into a corner and forcing them to fight was an epically bad idea, as apparently they were more than capable of using their devious and clever bents to beat even the most ridiculous odds against them. As a result of knowing that, he'd been less surprised than many to discover that a human had figured out how to beat the Narada and its captain.

When word circulated that the Captain Kirk was open to having someone hang out on his ship a while, as a sort of culture trade/learning thing, a lot of the Academy residents had been interested. To Kortel's mind, though, most of them had been interested for the wrong reasons.

Some saw being on the Enterprise as a chance at glory. Others saw it as a chance to prove Klingon superiority once and for all. Others saw it as a chance to sabotage the alliance now in place. Only a paltry few had even begun to approach the opportunity with the idea of actually learning from the humans, and teaching them in turn. At least, not without the trappings of glory attained or superiority proved, anyway.

Kortel had not exactly been shy in the Academy about making a name for himself with his ability to surprise overconfident opponents. When the announcement of the post on the Enterprise had been made, however, he'd swung into high gear.

Fortunately, there hadn't been massive numbers of people vying for the spot. Oh, there'd been quite a few, but the number had been in the double digits, rather than triple digits or worse. Physically defeating dozens of opponents would have - and did - leave the most frequent victors as bruised, bloody wrecks. What a larger contest would have resulted in boggled the mind.

As it stood, the worn out and injured contestants made for easy pickings for a Klingon with an agenda. Perhaps not as honorable as it should have been, but needs must from time to time. This had been such a time, something that most Klingons didn't learn until they were much older, according to Kortel's father. Kortel had used a combination of psychological warfare and patience - or as much of either as a Klingon ever had anyway - in the days of the contest to see who would win the spot on the Enterprise.

Psyching some of his opponents out had been ... fun. Difficult, but Kortel had been paying attention and knew what buttons to push, on whom, and when. Of course, using that tactic to keep folks from fighting at all had only worked on a certain few. Others, he'd had to settle for getting them so wound up they screwed up somewhere along the way in the fighting.

He'd waited until the last possible minute to actually fight himself. Let the strongest and best of the warriors - the ones he was honest enough to admit he didn't have a chance of defeating in a fair fight - wear themselves out and/or injure themselves to the point they couldn't continue and had to withdraw. Being fresh and uninjured himself had evened otherwise extremely long odds quite a bit. The psychological warfare he'd been employing not just for the last few days but ever since he'd gotten into the Academy had done the rest.

After two days on the Enterprise, Kortel was glad he'd done it. Because he could think of perhaps only one or two of his fellows that would have managed on the Enterprise even this long.

The thing was, humans were just plain weird from a Klingon perspective. Kortel had known that, thanks to the tales of his father's dealings with them. But even his father's interactions with humans had been limited, and the humans in question wary and probably acting atypically as they were dealing with a race they considered hostile, even if they were willing to deal with said race.

Kortel had expected behavior different from what his father had seen, and what had evidently been in display in the Great Hall. He just hadn't quite expected how different-yet-similar the behavior would be. They were quieter than Klingons by a huge margin, and definitely didn't hold honor sacred above all like Klingons did (or were supposed to), but ... well.

Part of the similarities, he knew, was that there were really only so many ways to build and run ships, so that there would have to be similarities somewhere. But there are more similarities than he expected to find. What's interesting though is the differences.

The vast majority of the Enterprise crew was within ten years of Kortel's age. Kortel didn't find this at all odd, as Klingon ships were largely by younger warriors. He found out from his liason - a human female named Janice Rand - that the youth of the Enterprise's crew was atypical for Starfleet ships. Evidently, most crewmembers were a good five or more years older than most of the Enterprise's crew. Further, those that were the age of Kirk and the Enterprise crew were always the lowest-ranked members of the crew and expected to remain so for several years. Klingons their age were generally mid-ranked at worst, and the vast majority were high ranked - captains, bridge crew, and the like.

Another difference was that Kirk, interestingly, was not the unquestioned lord and master of his ship the way a Klingon commander would be - at least until such time as said commander proved themselves weak or incompetent and was replaced. He not only permitted but encouraged his crew to act in ways that would get a Klingon crewman killed in very short order. The level of informality and familiarity that was the result made Kortel very uncomfortable. He'd had to restrain the urge to brace himself for retribution being visited on a crewman more than once in just the last two days. And he wasn't even an actual part of the crew, which meant he'd only been exposed to a few incidences of folks giving and receiving orders.

Amusingly, some of the command crew seemed to be almost as Klingon on a normal, day-to-day basis as they'd apparently made themselves seem to the High Council. Kirk had a very Klingon-like personality overall, despite his encouraging very un-Klingon behavior in his crew. Actually, the lack of weapons on hand aside, the entire command crew was much as they'd presented themselves from what Kortel had heard. They weren't quite as blatant about it, Kortel didn't think, but it didn't seem like they'd completely faked their behavior either.

The best part was that the crew largely seemed fine with his presence. Some were cautious and/or unsure of how to interact with him, but they didn't seem to resent his presence. Most of the command crew had made a point of checking in on him to make sure everything was fine. Sulu had all but begged a chance to spar using blades at some point when he'd stopped by. Kortel had been amused enough to agree.

Which was how he ended up in the ship's exercise room today, checking to see what the place had to offer. It was pretty impressive, actually, and surprisingly busy. There were a number of odd things that he didn't recognize, but there were other things that he did. A ring with a padded floor, for instance, that was currently being used by a couple crewmen who were practicing fighting skills. Kortel watched them for a few minutes because they were using moves he'd never seen before.

They noticed him watching them after a couple minutes, and broke apart. One of the two walked over to the edge of the ring.

"Interested in learning new moves?" They asked.

Kortel gave the man a fangy grin. "A Klingon is always eager to learn new ways to fight." He said.

"C'mon in, but shed any weapons y'got on you. I don't think you'd pull 'em, but accidents can happen, especially when you're rolling around on the floor." The man said.

Kortel had no problem with that. Weapons were forbidden in the arena when practicing weaponless fighting among Klingons for the very reason the man had cited. He removed his knives and placed them in a neat pile against the wall closest to the ring, then walked over.

"Ok, right. First thing first, names. I'm Tim and this is Jack." The man said, motioning to his practice partner.

Kortel nodded. "Greetings. I am Kortel." He had little doubt that his Standard would improve over time, but for now he kept things simple so he didn't sound like an idiot.

"Nice to meet you." Both Tim and Jack shook hands with Kortel. "Right, so. We humans? We're not really all that strong physically. Especially compared to a lot of other races out there. But we've figured out ways to get around that problem, even in a hand-to-hand fight. One of the main ways we do it is with fighting moves that use an opponent's size, strength, and momentum against them. Instead of trying to punch a physically superior opponent in the face, we get them to trip, or crash into something one way or another."

Kortel nodded. "And that reduces the enemy's advantages." It was admittedly clever, if not honorable by the Klingon definition.

"Exactly - and when they're flat out on the floor wondering how the heck they got there, we can knock them unconscious fairly easily." Tim said.

The two men then spent the next hour showing Kortel some of those varieties of moves. Kortel had to admit that they were ... very clever. They gnawed a bit at his sense of honor and definition of a fair fight, but he was pragmatic enough to actually use the moves despite that, if he ever got backed into a corner by a superior opponent. Especially a fellow Klingon who would never see such moves coming.

Tim hadn't been kidding when he said that the moves used the opponent's own strength and momentum against them. The moves allowed the person using them to turn punches and kicks aside, force the opponent to overextend and generally give more openings for attack than they might have otherwise. The human using the techniques was then able to strike unprotected body parts, or convert an attack into a move that launched the attacker airborne unexpectedly. In a contained environment, like a room, throwing someone like that had a high probability of throwing them into something, which could only aid in defeating the opponent one way or another.

The moves did unfortunately seem to have a limit to how useful they were according to Tim. The problem lay with species who could move faster than the person utilizing the moves. Beyond a certain level of speed, a defender, regardless of their species of origin, simply could not respond fast enough no matter how hard they tried or how they compensated. That said, there really weren't that many species who had that sort of advantage, even with humans. It was really only Vulcans and Romulans who had that sort of speed - at least that humans and Klingons both had met in the galaxy thus far, anyway. Every other species was within human limits when it came to response times, if only just. For Klingons, who had marginally faster response times than humans, Vulcans and Romulans still had an advantage, but the margin was a good deal smaller.

Kortel also discovered during the sparring that humans were very flexible compared to the average adult Klingon. Kortel and his agemates were a lot more flexible and agile than their older counterparts, but that would change. The armor his people wore as a matter of course once they started serving on ships (or graduated the Academy) was fairly heavy and stiff, forcing them to sacrifice flexibility for protection. That said, not even Klingon children were as flexible as some humans seemed to be. Kortel suspected that the difference in muscle mass had something to do with it.

Shortly after the sparring session, Doctor McCoy managed to corner Kortel, and Kortel spent an hour or so explaining and expanding on data the doctor had been given, in light of the Enterprise having a Klingon aboard for more than a couple days. The Enterprise wasn't planning on getting into a big battle anytime soon, and Kortel wasn't planning on getting hurt anytime soon either, but it could happen, so better to get this over with now. What surprised Kortel was that MCoy seemed to be willing to honor Klingon beliefs when it came to medical intervention, which McCoy had summed up as 'no extraordinary measures.'. It was very clear that McCoy did not like it and did not agree with it, but that he would still honor it. When Kortel finally commented on it, McCoy shrugged.

"Klingons're hardly unique that way." McCoy said. "All sorts of folks, human and not, have odd things going on when it comes to medicine, and for all sorts of reasons. I'd be the worst sort of doctor imaginable if I ignored that just because I think differently." He snorted. "Doesn't stop me from trying to talk sense into you outside of Sickbay, but you come to me banged up, and I'll honor whatever limits you put on medical help."

(_)(_)(_)

Most of the first day back on board the Enterprise was taken up with getting everyone settled and getting under way. Jim wanted to get to Earth as quickly as possible and return to Q'onoS. He was very sure that whoever had snuck into the Empire to threaten that colony world wasn't done yet by a long shot. The Klingons needed the Enterprise - and, to be honest, probably another dozen ships like her - to protect their people until their own armada was rebuilt. Jim planned to recommend the extra ships be sent, but until the idea got approved and the ships arrived, he planned on keeping the Enterprise in the Empire as much as he could get away with.

Jim was pleased to see that the Alpha bridge crew seemed to be starting to accept the whole 'as long as you do your jobs, doing other stuff on-shift is fine' thing he'd instituted. Chekov and Sulu spent most of the shift talking quietly between themselves, only glancing back once or twice when one or the other would laugh or start talking more loudly. Towards the end of the shift, Jim had glanced behind him (again) and seen Uhura with a padd on her lap, reading while she listened to the comm lines. The only one who didn't obviously take advantage of the relaxed rule was Spock, and Jim hadn't expected him to.

Jim himself had taken advantage of the quiet time to start filling out paperwork, so he'd have less to do after his shift was done. Though thank goodness, this particular event wasn't generating anywhere near the amount of paperwork that the Narada incident had. Jim'd been half-convinced he'd never dig out from under the paperwork generated by that snafu when he'd finally started on the pile in the second week of their limp toward Earth.

He'd say this much for Starfleet, though - the paperwork wasn't anywhere near as ridiculous as it could be. Jim had seen the kind of paperwork expected among some other spacegoing peoples, and it could get really, really, really bad. He had a feeling that was Vulcan influence, as Vulcans, while adamant about recording everything for posterity, had also developed an efficient, streamlined, *logical* method for doing so. They had also been the more 'experienced' race back when the Federation was being formed. Humans, the other main builders of the Federation, hadn't gotten further than the moon except for Zephram Cochran's warp flight, and hadn't had the faintest clue what was waiting for them in the wider galaxy. Because of that, humans had let the Vulcans play guide in a lot of areas until humans got their feet under them.

As a result, most paperwork in Starfleet mostly consisted of something remarkably close to 'check the boxes that apply'. For the most routine events, it was even simpler than that, merely needing to sign and date a form, no other work needed. It got more complex for ship captains and space station commanders, as they could and did run into things that were either far more complex than the usual forms allowed for, or involved things that there weren't forms for (yet). Jim was pretty sure the entirety of the Narada mess had not had a single moment where the paperwork was just the 'check the boxes' type, hence him getting snowed under.

When shift ended, Jim found himself with Spock at his side as they made their way to the elevator.

"I find myself with some unexpected free time this evening." Spock said once the turbolift doors had closed. "Would you perhaps be amenable to a game of chess?"

Jim grinned even as he mentally blinked. He'd not expected Spock to seek to spend off-duty time with him. He'd figured Spock would head for Uhura first. But then again, Jim had noticed the two of them seemed rather ... distant ... for a couple. He had no idea if that was normal for them or not, though. Didn't mean he didn't worry about them, but he was wise enough not to stick his nose into it without one of them inviting commentary.

"Sure. In about an hour? That'll give me time to finish the last of the paperwork and get cleaned up." Jim said.

Spock nodded. "An hour." He agreed, and when the turbolift door opened, they headed their separate ways.

(_)(_)(_)

Elsewhere/Elsewhen

If there is one universal, reality-wide truth, it is that 'sufficiently advanced' beings are ... capricious ... at best, and insufferable, interfering assholes at worst. They also seem to be known for making horrific mistakes that others end up paying for tens of thousands of years after the 'sufficiently advanced' race has wiped itself out one way or another.

In a time not here, and not now ... but yet also here and now, one such sufficiently advanced race found itself at war with a fellow sufficiently advanced race. The first race was just far enough away from 'asshole' territory to realize that the war in which they were engaged had the potential to rip their galaxy apart due to the weapons being used, and to want to do something about it.

Unfortunately, they weren't far enough into 'capricious' territory to avert disaster completely. The idea they came up with to end the war was benevolent enough, at least on paper. Rather than kill all that remained of their fellow race in an attempt to keep their universe in one piece, they opted to contain their fellows somehow, preferably in one fell swoop.

But how to contain people that do not wish to be contained? Every idea put forth was more involved and ridiculous than the last, and none guaranteed that those held would remain contained. Finally, someone put forth the idea of making it so that those contained would not wish to leave.

How to achieve that goal resulted in a lot of debate and experimentation. Innumerable ideas were put forth, until finally the one with the best odds for success was decided upon: Create a paradise for those to be contained. The problem of how to form an idyllic paradise that made one never wish to leave was a thorny one. Especially when not everyone would have the same type of 'paradise'.

The first attempt resulted in something that those in the Starfleet from which Kirk and later Picard hailed would call a holodeck. While not actually a holodeck, its intended function was close enough to earn it that appellation. Persons were put into a medically induced coma, their brainwaves linked to a supercomputer, and the computer pulled from their minds that which the person considered a paradise, and showed it them, manipulating things as the person interacted with the environment in such a way as to keep it 'ideal', so that the person would not wish to leave.

Unfortunately, as with all first attempts, there were problems and glitches. The first and largest being that catching people and putting them into medical comas individually was problematic at best. The logistics of maintaining that coma indefinitely were also problematic. So too was the prohibitive cost of building and maintaining the computers indefinitely. Adjustments and additions were made. More trials were held, and yet more adjustments and additions were made. That cycle repeated itself a few times, with the containment system evolving considerably with each iteration. And in the grand tradition of 'mad science' everywhere, the experiment escaped its creators' controls. It became the Nexus.

Thanks to one of the remaining glitches - the fact that a person could leave, and, unaware of the passage of time, instinctively return to where they had been when they had been absorbed (or, for those of a more creative bent of mind, anywhere and anyplace of their choosing), the Nexus essentially existed everywhere, everywhen. The visible 'ribbon' that traveled about merely marked the Nexus' location at that exact moment in that particular universe or reality.

While not sapient in the truest sense of the word, the Nexus was definitely sentient. Because it was everywhere, and everywhen, if the Nexus had been truly sapient, it would have known who its victims would be, which ones would escape, etc, and be able to prevent escapes, among other things. But because it wasn't, it did not. It merely collected those whom came within its grasp and fought to keep them to the best of its ability.

The thing about the Nexus that was most important was that it gave those that entered its sphere of influence what they most wanted. Sometimes that led to helping a victim escape. Either because the victim perceived the lie and figured out a way out, or because they had something or someone else important enough to them to pull them out of the Nexus that the Nexus could not, for whatever reason, imitate properly or avoid reminding its captive of. Captain Picard had been such a case. But the Nexus had not been willing to lose two victims to his need.

The Kirk Picard had spoken to in the Nexus and eventually convinced to leave the Nexus with him had been a simulacrum. The ribbon's proximity to where and when Picard had wanted to take Kirk had allowed the Nexus to continue controlling the simulacrum once it exited the Nexus. Removing that control led to the simulacrum's 'death', and prevented discovery of the fact that it was, in fact, a simulacrum. The Nexus had only ensured the simulacrum looked and acted sufficiently like the Kirk that Picard expected to avert suspicion. The internal structures did *not* match those of the true Kirk, and the subterfuge would have been discovered very swiftly if the simulacrum had continued to 'live'.

With almost any other being - even those that had created the Nexus - that would have been the end of the matter. But there is a second truth that was about to cause the Nexus a lot of trouble. It was not a universal truth only because the being it revolved around did not exist in every universe and reality. And that truth was that James Tiberius Kirk was stubborn enough to find a way to rearrange all of reality if he must.

When it had first absorbed Kirk, the Nexus had ... had difficulties ... with this phenomenon. Largely in the person of one S'chn T'gai Spock - and Kirk's mental bond with same. A bond that the Nexus, for all its power, could not break. A bond that had been strong enough, more than a decade previous to the Nexus acquiring Kirk, to drive Kirk to acts of desperation and determination that defied any and all attempts at logic or control. A bond that, in those first days and weeks, kept tugging Kirk half-out of the Nexus' grasp.

Eventually, the Nexus figured out how to, if not break, then smother the bond to the point where it no longer tugged at Kirk. At that, it had had a stroke of luck that it was entirely unaware of. The bond, after all, was as strong for Spock as for Kirk, but circumstances conspired to make Spock believe Kirk to actually be dead, else the Nexus would not have still had Kirk in its grasp when Picard needed assistance. 

Even with the bond smothered sufficiently to keep Kirk from fighting the Nexus' control, the Nexus had to maintain a closer watch on Kirk than most of its other captives. Anytime Kirk's 'paradise' wandered in certain directions, memories flared up. Memories that were strong enough to start making Kirk question what was going on around him, or to seek for Spock, because Spock should have been present. It was but a short step from there to Kirk again attempting to break free. The Nexus had to divert Kirk from those memories, which meant ensuring his 'paradise' did not veer into dangerous waters. So it was that Kirk was largely forced into reliving and remaking his pre-Spock past.

Unfortunately, in order to make a convincing simulacrum to interact with Picard, the Nexus had to tap into Kirk's memories of his career in Starfleet. The vast majority of those events had been spent with Spock by his side. Worse, the fact that the Nexus went trawling for specific memories left an impression. One that got jumbled and confused in Kirk's comatose mind.

Kirk had never been the sort of man who could ignore the fact that there was a problem that needed fixing at hand. Unless it involved Klingons, but even that had begun to change before the end. That there was trouble was enough in and of itself to begin to pull Kirk from his long slumber. That the knowledge that there was a problem got mixed in with memories of Spock - turning it into 'Spock was in trouble' - well. Spock had been the effective center of Kirk's world long before either of them had known they'd shared a bond. They had both risked death - and had actually died - to save the other. Kirk was literally incapable of not responding to an apparent threat to Spock.

Caught within an illusion of his Iowa home - a home he hadn't seen for the better part of a quarter century when he'd been roaming the galaxy - Kirk, in the midst of preparing a meal for a woman who had died even before he'd been caught in the Nexus froze with one hand reaching for a condiment as a fission of alarm raced up his spine.

Something was ... something was wrong. There was something ... someone ... 

Kirk glanced half-wildly around the room, trying to focus. Trying to remember. The Nexus scrambled to respond, to divert him - and the battle was on. A battle that anyone who had ever known Kirk - in any iteration - would bet that he would win, no matter what the Nexus tried to pull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *told* you I would fix the whole 'Spock Prime Needs His Kirk' thing. *gigglecackles*


	20. Discoveries and Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the length of time it took to update - my muse was playing hard to get there for a while.

Discoveries and Choices

(_)(_)(_)

Vulcan Colony World

Sam Kirk didn't really understand his little brother. Don't get him wrong - he loved Jim dearly. He just didn't understand him. At all.

Maybe it was just the differences in their personalities. Sam was, admittedly, the more laid back of the two of them. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he'd gotten angry enough to act rashly. Jim's tendency to punch first and talk things out always baffled Sam.

It probably hadn't helped that Sam had been forced into being Jim's surrogate parent pretty much from day one. Nor had it helped that Sam had had to deal with feeling abandoned by Winona, and Frank's abuse while trying to shield Jim from both as much as he could. Sam had been young enough at the time of his father's death that even he hadn't really had memories of loving, caring parents to fall back on.

Jim had resented Sam trying to parent him, in the months before Jim had driven that damn car over the edge of the old quarry. Sam was man enough at this stage to admit that he'd resented having to parent Jim in his own turn. The one saving grace of the whole mess when they'd been kids was that even back then, Sam had been very aware that it hadn't just been Sam whose authority Jim resented and fought against, even if Sam never really did understand why Jim fought.

Sam had a feeling that Jim didn't know the quarry incident had been one of the times Sam had lost his damn mind and gone on the offensive. Sam had been horrified by the fact that Winona had been more angry at the loss of the gods-be-damned car than she had been at the fact that Jim had very nearly committed suicide. Or that Frank had been abusing them. It had resulted in one of the few times Sam blew his top and screamed in someone's face. When Winona *still* hadn't seemed to give a shit, Sam had walked out, unable to tolerate being anywhere near her or Frank after that. With Jim (apparently) safe at a school he'd be staying at until he came of age, there hadn't seemed to be a better time.

It'd taken Sam a few years after that to get his head on straight all the way. Of course, right about the time he'd finally gotten straightened out, shit had gone down on Tarsus. He'd found out about it nearly a year after it had all happened thanks to an offhand comment made by a scientist who'd transferred to the colony just the week before they made the comment.

Sam had gone a little crazy there for a while trying to find Jim. He'd prayed to every deity to ever have been rumored to exist that his brother had either not been on the planet when that shit went down, or he'd managed to survive it. He'd cried like a baby when he finally managed to track Jim down. Thank goodness that whatever luck Jim lived by had seen him through that mess. Even if he'd been, a full year after it had all gone down, too thin, still haunted, and angrier than ever.

They'd stayed in contact after that, but Sam had spent most of his time and concentration on his own life, his own career. He'd met Aurelan and fallen in love with her. They'd married, and then he'd become a father. He'd understood a lot better, at that point, at least some of what had driven George to make the decisions he'd made the day he died. Having Peter in his arms for the first time ... that had changed *everything* for Sam. The addition of little Bryce less than a year ago had only made it worse. Of course, it had made Winona all the more inexplicable to him. Especially since he'd dutifully sent notifications of his marriage and the birth of his kids and gotten no response whatever from her.

In the course of his career, Sam had worked with a number of Vulcan scientists. There had actually been a pair of Vulcans on the team Sam and Aurelan had been working with on the colony world. That was actually how they'd known some sort of epic level event had gone down, because Savel and his wife T'mala had both gone down like they'd been phasered for no apparent reason. The other scientists had all immediately tried to get on the horn to Vulcan, worried that the pair had been hit by some Vulcan-specific malady and would be in need of specialized help. Their inability to raise Vulcan had increased their alarm. It hadn't been until late that night that word had filtered through the grapevine as to what had happened.

Even then, it had been in the form of a very haggard looking Vulcan Elder contacting them to ascertain if Savel and T'mala were on-planet. When their presence - and current condition - had been confirmed, the Elder had told them what to do for the couple to ensure they actually managed to attain a healing trance, rather than lying there unconscious due to trauma. That was all that could be done for the pair until trained telepathic and/or empathic counselors could be dispatched.

After that, Sam had lost no time trying to call Jim. When he hadn't got an answer, he'd instantly contacted Pike. When he hadn't gotten an answer there either, he'd started making noise in general until someone noticed him. Given who he was, and the situation at hand (which Sam hadn't known the details of) it hadn't taken very long to get someone on the horn who both knew something and was willing to tell him about what was going on. He and Aurelan had lost no time in arranging to get to Earth in time for the Enterprise's eventual return.

Even at that early date, the idea of helping the remnants of the Vulcan race had been brought up between them. At the time they'd had no idea what they could do to help. While they were both xenobiologists, their specialties didn't include the breeding and maintaining of existing species of plants and animals. They both specialized in identifying new species and discovering how they worked and what they were capable of.

When word had gotten around that the Vulcans were going to establish a new homeworld, they'd been more than happy to offer their expertise. They'd been just one pair out of literally hundreds of thousands - perhaps millions - of people to offer their time and knowledge to the task at hand.

The first folks to be picked for the project had all specialized in environmental concerns. There were folks from virtually every discipline. There were folks who specialized in analyzing the exact composition of gasses in the atmosphere, identifying planetary weather patterns, tectonic and near-space activity that would affect things like volcanoes, tides, and the like. There were also folks who specialized in assaying the variety, quality and abundance of minerals and ores available on a planet.

The Vulcans took less than two months to locate a world that enough of their surviving population liked enough to make their new homeworld. That decision made, the legion of environmental science types went to work ensuring the planet was as viable for colonization as it appeared. That investigation took less than a month. At that point, another legion of science types were hired. This round included Sam and Aurelan and number of others who specialized in investigating the life forms on a planet.

New Vulcan - the unofficial name of the planet - was, like Vulcan had been, dry and hot as hell everywhere but the pole regions, which were dry and cold as hell. It was roughly half water, half land, with the water scattered in relatively small 'seas' surrounded by vast amounts of desert, steppe, and tundra. There wasn't a single bit of vegetation on the planet that grew taller than two meters. The seas had roughly the same salinity as the old Salt Lake in the United States had had, before it had dried up. Despite that extreme salinity, the seas were full of life forms of varying complexity, though at first look there didn't seem to be any really large life forms like Earth's whales. There were rivers scattered around, all with 'beds' much deeper than their current water levels necessitated, indicative of a seasonal flood of some severity that permitted the existence of larger bodies of water for a time. None of the rivers was all that big - none approached even the Nile (which, while one of the longest rivers on Earth, didn't move much water) for the amount of water they transported.

Like Vulcan, the gravity was greater than that of Earth, though this world was not as 'heavy' as Vulcan had been, being closer to half again Earth's gravity, rather than twice. It also had a slightly higher oxygen content. Not enough to make humans comfortable on the planet long-term without the assistance of tri-ox, but enough of a difference to be notable. It had a comparable amount of tectonic activity to Vulcan - which was to say a lot, with a number of mountain ranges and active volcanoes. Unlike Vulcan, this world also had a moon, roughly the same size as Earth's.

The land-going lifeforms on the world seemed to run the usual gamut of predator and prey, with enough insect life to ensure the continuation of the vegetation. Like the water-borne lifeforms, there didn't seem to be any truly large creatures of a size with Earth elephants or giraffes. That said, what the planet lacked in sheer size of its lifeforms, it made up in variety. Even the 'worst' of the desert areas had a plethora of small to medium burrowing lifeforms. The more hospitable areas were rather akin to what the African plains had once been - that is, teeming with massive herds of a variety of prey species and patrolled by numerous predators of varying descriptions.

On the plant side of the equation, the world was completely devoid of anything that could be classed as a 'tree'. Despite that lack, the number and variety of grasses and shrubs was stunning. The tallest of the vegetation proved to be a bamboo-like growth, with a hollow center and a fairly tough exterior. There was evidence the things were capable of growing beyond the four-to-five foot height the initial survey discovered they seemed to top out at. The tops and sides of the plants were very worn down - as if they'd been through a few sandstorms, which was probably the case. Without the wind and sand wearing them down like that, it was entirely likely the bamboo-like plants could grow at least another half-meter in height and probably more.

Sam and Aurelan's team's first - and most important - task was to identify which plants and animals were toxic to Vulcans first and foremost, and other space-going species in general. That involved a lot of careful remote collection of unidentified flora and fauna in the first week or two of their presence at the colony. Once it had been determined whether or not a sample exuded a toxin, a very basic map of 'safe' areas could be compiled, and warnings as to what to look out for published to all parties. 

Official identification and classification would occur once a safe area to establish a base had been figured out. The flora and fauna they investigated in the process of finding a safe zone would acquire an unofficial identification, of course. It was just possible that the initial identification could end up being incorrect and need to be changed after a more thorough investigation was conducted, because the initial sweep was more concerned with whether the flora and fauna was inimical to the incoming colonists than anything else. Properly identifying and classifying the planet's flora and fauna would be a task that would take far longer than Sam and Aurelan would be alive. Even in this day and age, finding and cataloging every bit of flora and fauna on a new planet was a century-plus long endeavor.

Another team would put their minds to creating methods to negate the toxins discovered. That process too would take time. Many toxins were very difficult to deal with due to their complexity, their methods of distribution, or how endemic the source of the toxin happened to be. A third team would be establishing a sealed building in which Vulcan plants and animals would slowly, carefully be introduced to the new planet's environment in carefully controlled stages. This would determine whether or not any of the Vulcan flora and fauna could survive in open-air zoo-like conditions on-planet, or if tightly sealed, environmentally controlled facilities would be required. The advisability of introducing Vulcan flora and fauna to the planet's existing ecosystem was a debate that would rage probably for decades.

They'd found a suitable safe place to begin building a settlement pretty quickly. The planet seemed to have the usual array of flora and fauna that was toxic to other planetary life to discourage predation. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be more than a handful or so of lifeforms that were toxic to Vulcans or other space-going races, which was very good news. The chosen site was near one of the few rivers that was likely to maintain any water in its bed year-round. The settlement was on a rise above the river, to hopefully keep it dry if and when the river flooded, and backed by foothills that would break and divert the winds that otherwise howled over the surface largely unstopped. A huge field comprised largely of the bamboo-like growths formed a low windbreak on one side of the rise, while the other side of the rise was mostly barren rock.

The first of the construction supplies and volunteer personnel from Earth had reached the colony right about the time the team had identified the spot for the settlement. Since the volunteer force consisted largely of engineers and folks who knew how to swing various construction tools, their presence was welcomed with open arms by the science teams. The volunteers had spent the last week getting pre-fab buildings set up at the chosen site. With accommodation available ground-side, most of the science team members moved down to the surface for ease of access to what they were studying.

A number of the Vulcan youths, newly orphaned and rather adrift, had found uses for themselves as assistants for the scientists. Their keen eyes and careful hands were invaluable in gathering the available flora, and they had better odds of spotting and catching fauna in this sort of environment than most of the other scientists did. It had also doubtlessly helped them to have a sense of purpose.

Sam knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Aurelan was not alone in having to viciously curb the urge to mother and coddle the poor kids. Hell, he'd been having to sit on that sort of urge himself, and if the looks some of the scientists were shooting the kids was anything to go by, they were in the same boat. Unfortunately, these kids had been raised the Vulcan way and wouldn't welcome the overt displays of emotion that were inevitable when humans expressed concern and care for children. Approaching them the way they would human kids dealing with a tragedy of this magnitude would do more harm than good.

That said, the scientists did make a concerted point to make sure there were activities the kids could busy themselves with. It wasn't even that hard to arrange, as there were a myriad of things that needed doing that small hands and swift feet could perform better than their larger, slower adult counterparts. There was also an unspoken but unanimous group-wide effort to keep all emotional displays to a minimum so the kids would feel more comfortable in the presence of the non-Vulcan scientists. It was the best they could do for the poor kids. 

With the adults, it was easier to remember to stand back and not get all cuddly in sympathy for their losses. As remote and unapproachable as Vulcans had always seemed to Sam before this had happened, it was ten times worse now. Not to mention that it was more than passing strange to see Vulcans clearly in the grips of emotions. Oh, it wasn't anything blatantly obvious like yelling or crying, but it was there. Trembling hands, definitely snippy tones of voice, the odd clenched jaw. Things of that nature. The entire non-Vulcan work force had all wordlessly agreed to ignore such breaches in 'acceptable' Vulcan behavior.

Which probably helped to explain why Sam and Aurelan never quite understood the significance when one of the adult Vulcan assistants abruptly walked off and disappeared. That particular Vulcan male had been getting more ... snippy ... over the last few days. Sam and Aurelan both had dismissed the change in behavior as the man finally succumbing to the emotional overload that every Vulcan was currently struggling with.

Not even the remaining Elders fully understood the import of what had begun happening. That the destruction of Vulcan had thrown the biology of its people completely out of whack they knew and understood. But they did not yet realize how dangerous the situation really was, and how bad it was going to get. A number of Vulcan males, due for Pon Farr in the week or so immediately after Vulcan exploded, failed to fall prey to it as scheduled, then got hit with it a week or more after they ought to have succumbed. On the other end of the equation, more and more Vulcan males were starting to hit Pon Farr early. Thus far, it was effecting only those who had been close to Pon Farr anyway, resulting in men who hit Pon Farr a week or so earlier than expected. 

The Elders, up to their eyeballs in ten thousand million other concerns, failed to realize there was more to the situation than met the eye. After all, it was utterly logical that a biological quirk governed by the route of a planet around a sun would get thrown out of whack when said planet got blown up. Those Elders that paid any mind to the handful or so of late Pon Farrs and the increasing number of 'early by a week or so' Pon Farrs logically assumed that things would even out as the Vulcan people adjusted to their new world.

What the Elders - and Vulcans in general - didn't realize was that the problem wasn't going to right itself anytime soon. Pon Farr may have been a function of suppressing their emotions, but it hid, and worked in tandem with, the primitive *need* to procreate. While in modern times Vulcan children were created outside of Pon Farr, it was rare. Something like eighty percent of all modern Vulcans were the product of a Pon Farr mating.

There had been a time, though, when having kids at any time was the norm. There had also been a time when Vulcans had had an unfortunate tendency to damn near wipe themselves out in their various wars pre-Surak. Yet, every time, there had been a population boom after the war was over, and within a generation the population was nearly back to where it had been before all the killing began. The biological quirk that drove primitive Vulcans to repopulate the species in such a short time had never been bred out. Worse, since Surak, the existence of that quirk had largely been forgotten as the need for it had disappeared. Worst of all, Vulcans might have gained an incredible amount of control over their bodies, but not even they could fight this.

The biggest problem with the whole situation was that the number of Vulcan men who still had living mates was ... alarmingly low. Fortune was thus far smiling on everyone involved as those falling prey to Pon Farr so far did still have mates, but that luck was going to run out. Soon. And when it did, something was going to have to give. The number of Vulcan men outnumbered females something like four to one, now. While Vulcans technically practiced gender equality, a preponderance of women had remained on Vulcan while their menfolk had gone off-planet for whatever reasons. Just to make matters even worse, only about a third of the Vulcan women who had escaped Vulcan's destruction were 'breeding age' females. The rest were either past childbearing age or children themselves. In short, there simply weren't enough *Vulcan* women to go around.

(_)(_)(_)

Vulcan Embassy, Earth

It had taken nearly the entire time he'd had to wait for a ship that could take him off the world he'd initially settled on for Sovok to come to a decision as to what to do. It had been more than passing strange to him that the easiest part of the decision had been to not report back to his so-called superiors on Romulus. The next easiest decision had been to get the heck off the planet he was on. If his ex-bosses decided to send someone after him, he'd be far too easy to find, here.

What to do, and where to go? That had been a lot harder to figure out. Was it worth the inherent risks to head for either Earth or the new Vulcan homeworld? He might be able to pass as Vulcan to the uninformed long term, especially when the actual Vulcans would be acting atypically for an unknown length of time. Unfortunately, the odds of someone spotting something amiss in his behavior was much higher where people lived and worked with Vulcans. And eventually, the Vulcans would return to their normal behavior, which would make anything he did that was outside the Vulcan norm that much more obvious. Which meant that eventually, he would be forced to relocate.

But then again, maybe not. If he made himself indispensible ... well. The Vulcans weren't in a position where they could be all that picky, were they? They needed all the help they could get to recover from this tragedy, in every way. Especially when it came to rebuilding their population. Romulans were, a few small physical differences (like tear ducts) aside, genetically identical to Vulcans. If Vulcans were going to repopulate their species without running into the problems that a small breeding population created, they were going to *need* Romulan genetic contributions. There was only so much that modern genetic manipulation could do to prevent the physical and mental malformations that inbreeding caused. And that was a situation the Vulcans *would* be facing. Sovok knew Vulcan history. 

There had never been a time when the Vulcan population had been brought down as low as it was now. It really didn't help that Vulcans had nearly wiped themselves out multiple times over the course of their history. That had created something of a genetic bottleneck even under the best of circumstances. That was why all Vulcans had the same basic physical description and mental capabilities. Everything else had gotten wiped out over time. With the existing bottleneck in place, inbreeding issues would crop up a lot sooner than they would in a more genetically diverse population.

Eventually, Sovok decided it would be safer to play the part of off-world volunteer to obtain needed goods and services. He had enough legitimate, legal contacts he'd cultivated over the years to pull it off, and it would keep him at a bit of a remove from anyone that would be able to spot discrepancies in his behavior. Unfortunately, that meant he would have to make himself known to the Vulcan Embassy on Earth. Hopefully he'd be able to keep from revealing himself.

Sovok was a bit startled when he finally reached the Embassy. Most of the land was covered in tents and other pre-fab domiciles of varying descriptions. It was obvious that those buildings were new additions, though the spaces between them showed evidence of considerable use already. There were beings from practically every Federation race in evidence, moving back and forth between various knots of their fellows, the pre-fab buildings, the Embassy buildings, and the spacecraft landing zone. The landing zone itself was a hive of activity, with four ships currently somehow sharing a space meant for two at most. Massive pallets of materiel were being taken off of and put onto those ships in a bewildering but clearly organized dance. Sovok spotted two more ships at the very edge of the Embassy's territory, waiting their turn at the zone. Even as he stared around, one of the four ships in the zone took off. Moments later, one of the waiting ships lifted off and carefully took the empty spot left behind.

In all the rush, it took Sovok a few moments to figure out where volunteers were supposed to be going to check in. There was an announcement (repeating itself in numerous languages) being broadcast from somewhere, but it was difficult to hear over all the other noise. Eventually, though, Sovok caught enough of the announcement to figure out where he needed to go.

His destination proved to be a canopy at the edge of the landing zone, a table set in the shade underneath, with a quartet of Vulcan men, all quite elderly in appearance, seated behind the table. They all had datapads in front of them that they were entering information into. They each also had fairly considerable lines of beings in front of them, roughly six people deep each. Each line had a small sign at the edge of the canopy indicating what it was for. Sovok headed for the left-most line, where incoming Vulcans registered so that the Elders could keep track of who was still alive after the explosion of Vulcan.

When Sovok got to the table, he realized the elder in charge of the line had a young infant with him in a carrier. It struck Sovok as slightly odd that such an elderly Vulcan would have the care of such a young child at first. Then he realized that the elderly folks were probably in the best position to care for such young children. The younger adult Vulcans would be far too busy running hither and yon trying to get things done to have the time to devote to raising and caring for an infant.

"Greetings, Elder. I am Sovok, child of Savel of House Sitok." Sovok said.

Of course, only the House actually existed. Savel was the fictitious second son of a second son from a line of second (or worse) sons, which meant that Sovok had little to no standing in the House - a person of no real import. The Vulcans 'Savel' descended from (and their real child) had been off Vulcan for decades prior to when Sovok would have been born to them, and had died in some sort of accident before Sovok had been set in his career as spy, so there were now none to gainsay his pedigree. Better still, House Sitok, while fairly populous as Houses went, was far from influential, as its members were known for pursuing careers outside of the sciences.

"Greetings, Sovok. I am Selik." The elder returned the greeting, then indicated the infant. "And this is Saavik."

Sovok damn near had a heart attack. The child had a Romulan name? What? Why? It passed understanding, at least for a minute. Then Sovok figured out the likely reason. He knew better than to think he was the first Romulan to ever defect out of the Empire. Therefore, the child had at least one Romulan parent. The startling part of the whole thing was that there was a very high likelihood of her having had a Vulcan parent. Which meant that the Vulcan parent was well aware of their partner's true identity. Romulans might indulge in casual relationships that could and did result in unexpected children, but Vulcans most assuredly did not.

And as Sovok recovered, he realized that the entire time he'd been floundering, Selik had been watching his reaction. With a disturbing glint in his eye, to boot, that was indicative of emotions in a way that Vulcans just didn't generally permit themselves. And it was not, Sovok was quick to realize, an indication that this particular elder was suffering emotional upheaval from the destruction of Vulcan. Oh, Sovok had little doubt that Selik was, to put it mildly, distressed by that event, but the emotions on display right here and now were not due to that. This was something else entirely. The over-curious snoop in Sovok wondered if maybe, just maybe this Vulcan was not, actually, Vulcan. Old he might be, but ... well. It wasn't like age was much of a factor when it came to fathering a child.

(_)(_)(_)

Selik was anything but stupid. He was privately, mentally laughing as he input 'Sovok's' information into his datapad. Sovok his foot. Selik would bet good, solid money this man was, in fact, Rihannsu. If nothing else, the gobsmacked reaction to Saavik's name was a dead giveaway. Vulcans who disapproved of the Rihannsu would react, of course, but not in so blatant a manner, even under current conditions. That tell aside, several decades of living amongst the Rihannsu meant that Selik was better than most at spotting the differences between a Rihannsu pretending to be a Vulcan and an actual Vulcan.

Not that Selik had been being a troll by introducing Saavik to everyone he dealt with, of course. Selik sighed a little bit. Truly, Jim had been an ... unfortunate influence ... on him in many respects. Oh, who was he kidding? Selik had been a bit of a troll even before he'd met Jim. Jim had just encouraged that tendency in him. Besides, the surviving Vulcans were going to have to learn to deal with the Rihannsu. Unbeknownst to Selik, he was in agreement with Sovok in that he was of the opinion that seeking out Rihannsu genetic contributions would be required to keep inbreeding issues from cropping up, with as small as the Vulcan population had gotten.

Saavik babbled and waved a tiny fist, reacting to Selik's mental amusement as it filtered over to her through their bond. Selik took a moment to touch that tiny fist, amused at how besotted with her he'd become since he'd adopted her. Amused, but not really all that surprised. It may have taken him decades to come to terms with the human half of his genetics, and to become comfortable in his own skin, but he'd gotten there eventually. So it really didn't surprise him that he'd latched onto Saavik in the face of all he'd lost, both recently and ... less recently.

In her turn, Saavik was thriving under his care. She'd gone from being rather traumatized and subdued in a bad way to ... well, a more-or-less normal infant of her age. While she couldn't talk, and wouldn't be able to for months yet, she'd started making the random noises that were a precursor to actual speech. Mentally, she'd begun parroting back simple words, though Selik wasn't sure she understood what most of the words meant yet. That said, she was consistently using sa-mekh in relation to himself, and a few other words were being used correctly consistently, so she understood at least some words. She'd also begun sitting and crawling under her own power, though the crawling had more similarity to a worm squirming along than anything else.

In those regards, Saavik was actually a bit behind where she should be. Vulcan infants developed about twice as fast as human infants did, both physically and mentally. Saavik should have been crawling before Selik adopted her. Between the physical and psychological trauma she'd suffered and a certain lack of care from the Vulcan healers (and others) who were unwilling to spend more than the minimum effort on a half-Romulan child, she'd fallen behind in the usual milestones. Selik had little doubt that she'd catch up with a vengeance now that she had someone's attention and concern.

Selik finished inputting Sovok's information without commenting on his reaction to Saavik. He also made note of Sovok's offer to arrange for delivery of some of the smaller items required for various projects both here at the Embassy and on the new homeworld.

"It would perhaps work best if transport was arranged for you, to go from place to place to obtain these items." Selik said. "One of the ships scheduled to arrive today might suit. They are a cargo ship, and having someone on board who knows what is needed and has contacts from which to obtain them would be logical, rather than having to call in repeatedly."

He didn't mention that the ship's crew was all humans, and had little to no knowledge of 'proper' Vulcan behavior, and thus wouldn't spot any inconsistencies in Sovok's behavior. He'd let Sovok figure that one out on his own.


	21. Breather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is exactly what it says on the tin - a breather before all heck breaks loose.

Breather

(_)(_)(_)

Enterprise

Pavel grinned as he performed the last few tasks necessary to end his shift on the bridge. A few feet away, Hikaru was doing the same. They'd left Earth today, heading back to the Klingon Empire. With the blessing of the Admiralty, no less. The incursion of the unknown ship had left everyone uneasy. What if it wasn't just the Klingons the unknown party meant to test?

While seven ships and almost an entire graduating class had been a not-insignificant blow to Starfleet, it was nowhere near the situation the Klingons faced, so the Admiralty had readily agreed to the Enterprise continuing to patrol Empire space to keep an eye out for further intrusions. There had even been a brief conference with both the ambassadors and the Chancellor which resulted in two more ships being given marching orders. They would, however, not arrive until after the Enterprise did. Both ships had recently returned from long-term cruises at the edges of Federation space and were in the midst of being upgraded, repaired, and resupplied, and their crews in the midst of much-needed shore leaves. They'd not be ready to head out for another couple days.

Kortel was still aboard, too. How Kirk had fast-talked the Admiralty into okaying that, Pavel didn't know. But Kortel was now officially a liaison for the future officer exchange program that would make it possible for trained Klingon crewmen to work on Starfleet ships with minimal (and preferably nonexistent) issues.

Out of the corner of his eye, Pavel watched as Kirk, Spock, and Uhura packed up and prepared to go off-shift as well. He couldn't quite figure out what the heck was going on with those three. Spock and Uhura had apparently been in a relationship. Had being the operative word, apparently, as they didn't seem to be anymore. Then again, they were both pretty private and self-contained people, so they just might not be inclined to public displays.

That didn't explain how or why Spock and Kirk were so at ease with each other, though. Especially given what had happened between them during the whole Narada mess. Of course, people had bonded in stranger circumstances, so again, who knew what the deal was there. Kirk and Uhura at least made a little sense. Pavel had heard through the campus grapevine that the two of them were friends of a sort. The whole thing was just confusing.

"Hey Pavel, don't forget we're going to work on your swordsmanship later." Hikaru said as he finished with his own tasks.

Pavel grinned. "Of course I will not forget." He said.

Pavel knew well enough how to defend himself - you couldn't *not*, in Starfleet. Everyone was taught at least the basics of how to shoot, throw a punch, and the best places to aim for. The basics, however, were nowhere near enough to go toe-to-toe with, for example, a Klingon and win without needing serious time in Sickbay when the fight was done. While Pavel was aware that Kirk was an accredited combat instructor, it had been a lot easier to approach Hikaru.

Pavel liked Kirk. He liked him a lot. But Kirk was captain. And while Kirk demonstrably had little to no care for the normal, standoffish relationship expected of a captain in relation to his crew, Pavel just couldn't make himself ask Kirk for training. It really didn't help that Pavel felt it'd be rude to cut into Kirk's tiny allotment of off-duty time.

Hikaru had, rather predictably, been enthused about teaching someone what was a dying skill on Earth. They'd been working at it a couple times a week since they'd been forced to retreat to Uhura's parent's house to avoid the press. Pavel wasn't far enough along that he'd felt comfortable carrying an actual sword while dealing with the Klingons thus far. He'd made strides, to be sure, but there was a big difference between being able to perform various movements and strikes in a training situation and successfully defending his life in a real fight. Especially against someone with a *lot* more experience with blades, as was the case with Klingons as a whole.

"Kortel will probably be there, fair warning." Hikaru said. "He found out through the grapevine that I was teaching somebody, and got curious."

Pavel shrugged. "I do not have a problem with him watching. I just do not want him teaching me. I would get confused." Because how Klingons did things when it came to fighting with a blade was different from how humans did things. Pavel knew he wasn't far enough in his training to be able to handle learning from two such wildly different styles.

"Don't worry about that. He didn't even offer. I've gotten the definite impression that actively teaching stuff like that is an in-the-family-only sort of thing for Klingons." Hikaru said. "I'd actually been half expecting him to be scandalized, to be honest."

Pavel laughed at that. He'd not had as much interaction with the various Klingons they'd dealt with to really notice their attitudes as regarded training. That said, he was willing to take Hikaru's word as to their likely reaction. Hikaru had pretty much jumped into the deep end of that part of Klingon culture, so he'd have a much better idea than even Kirk would.

"Maybe he thinks we are related?" Pavel asked. "I mean, if their beliefs run along those lines, he wouldn't automatically assume anything else. I know we look pretty different, but to a nonhuman who maybe hasn't met all that many humans to be able to tell stuff like ethnic features?"

"Entirely possible." Hikaru admitted. "Goodness knows, we wouldn't know one Klingon from the next without a lot of exposure to them. And there's a chance that even if he does know we're not related by blood, he thinks we're family some other way."

Pavel nodded. Neither of them had the faintest idea if Klingons were ok with something like marrying again after a divorce (or even if divorce was a thing Klingons did) or the death of your marriage partner, or marrying someone who already had a kid (having had said kid outside of a marriage, or being a widow/er). Nor did they really know how orphans were dealt with, and all three of those were ways for two people who weren't related by blood to still be family. 

Aside, of course, from the more traditional method of one of them being born to a daughter of the family and the other to a son. That would account for the different last names and appearances, even with Hikaru and Pavel having such wildly different appearances. Genetics being as quirky as they were, it was entirely possible for someone to take very strongly after one parent rather than being a mix of them both. Such a circumstance would explain why Pavel and Hikaru looked so different. Granted, such marked differences in appearance were rare, but they were still possible.

Right about then, the Beta shift crew arrived, and Pavel turned his attention to the handover, which mostly amounted to 'right, I'm all logged out, and nothing weird happened, have a good shift'. Of course, that wasn't always the case - hence the need for a verbal handover. That allowed for the crew going off shift to warn the crew going on-shift if a console was being twitchy, or if anomalous readings had been recorded. Anything along those lines that hadn't escalated to something the entire crew knew about because they'd spent the shift at battle stations or something like that. It also allowed them to document the rare, 'trivial' ongoing problem that repairs didn't fix. The Enterprise hadn't been commissioned long enough to develop those sorts of problems yet, though.

That done, Pavel and Hikaru piled into the turbolift to go change out of their uniforms and get some food before meeting up in the training room. Because their handovers were a lot simpler than Kirk, Spock, and Uhura's, they beat that triad off the bridge.

(_)(_)(_)

Hikaru had both been surprised and not by his growing friendship with Pavel. The kid had a heck of a sense of humor on him. It helped that Hikaru got a kick out of watching Pavel work the 'young, naive child' ploy like a seasoned pro. Seriously, the kid could go from competent, capable crewman to quivering, wide, dewey-eyed infant in three seconds flat. Worse, people actually fell for the act, which would never not be funny.

It had been especially hilarious when Pavel had turned that act on the press. In tandem with Kirk (who clearly had Pavel's number, at least in this regard) who played the part of outraged, protective captain twice before they'd retreated to Uhura's folks' place. A couple of the more rabid reporters had gotten no end of grief from the general public for making a 'hero' cry. Yes, Pavel had actually turned on the waterworks at one point. Kirk's rather overacted righteous fury in Pavel's defense had earned him more than a few brownie points with said public.

The rest of the Enterprise's command crew - except for Spock, of course - had laughed themselves sick over the whole thing. Even McCoy, who, of everyone else, was the most likely to be unamused by Kirk's antics. Hikaru still couldn't believe that so many people had actually bought what Pavel and Kirk had been selling, but their idiocy had given the group a much needed breather in order to make good their escape from all the attention.

Hikaru stopped off at his quarters long enough to grab a light dinner, take a shower and change out of his uniform and into exercise gear. One of the traditions regarding swordsmanship that Hikaru didn't keep to was wearing the appropriate gear. This was mostly due to the fact that he was never going to be wearing that stuff in a real fight so becoming used to their presence was a bad idea. He'd worn a little protective gear - a face and groin shield - when Pavel had first started learning, but Pavel had progressed to the point where those weren't necessary. Pavel's control was good enough now that while he didn't always hit what he was aiming for, he didn't go *that* far astray. Hikaru made sure that Pavel understood that face and groin shots were perfectly legal in a fight for his life, and would use them of course. What he was teaching Pavel had only a passing acquaintance with the carefully controlled and codified forms of swordplay that had become virtually all that remained of sword fighting past a certain point in Earth history.

Hikaru fairly bounced into the training room, the long case that held his practice sword under one arm. Pavel had his own swords - both a practice sword (which meant it was a touch heavier than his actual sword and the blade was dull) and an actual sword to fight with. Hikaru had gotten them for Pavel just before they'd left Earth for their first assignment aboard the repaired Enterprise. Pavel's sword was a saber. It was identical in all respects to Hikaru's fold-out sword, and had been made by the same person that made Hikaru's.

Kortel had beaten Hikaru there, and was lurking near where Hikaru and Pavel usually practiced. He wasn't the only one either. Much to Hikaru's delight and amusement, he and Pavel seemed to be sparking a ship-wide interest in sword fighting. There were usually two or three people at the minimum lurking about watching them practice, and as many as a dozen or so. Thus far no one else had asked to be taught, but Hikaru had a feeling it was only a matter of time, especially with them hanging out with Klingons for the foreseeable future.

Pavel arrived about two minutes later, quite literally bouncing and with a wide, toothy grin on his face. He waved to Kortel, but then turned his attention to Hikaru.

"This time, I will win." Pavel claimed.

Hikaru laughed. Pavel said that every time. Thus far, he couldn't actually manage it if Hikaru didn't deliberately mess up. Which he did from time to time - he knew well enough that constantly getting defeated would eventually bother even the most dedicated student. Not only that, but you didn't really learn much when you just repeatedly got beat into the ground. "You will try." He told Pavel, which he told Pavel every time, though he changed up the wording and/or tone each time.

(_)(_)(_)

As Nyota spoke with her beta shift replacement, she watched Jim and Spock out of the corner of her eye. It was worth watching the pair of them. Both for the entertainment factor and to hopefully spot an explosion before one happened. Not that she expected one, but with those two, there was no predicting when they'd come to loggerheads in spectacular fashion.

She'd known from the very beginning that she and Spock would not stand the test of time. She was good enough at reading people to have figured that out. That they'd be good together but not quite what each of them needed for the *real* long haul. It hadn't stopped her from pursuing him though, because while she knew they'd not last, she'd also figured they'd have a good run while it lasted.

That said, she'd thought she'd have more than a year and a bit with him. There was a part of her that was petty enough to hate Nero for bringing their relationship to a premature end. Another part of her was oddly grateful, because they were simply drifting away from each other. They were still friends and likely always to be so, rather than not being able to stand the sight of each other or some such nonsense if they'd fallen apart at a later time, and more acrimoniously. The both of them were far too heart-sore from their grief and pain to bring more misery on themselves by fighting.

All that said, she would never in a million years have guessed that Jim, of all people, was bidding fair to take her place. Not that he or Spock realized that. Yet. But Nyota recognized the signs. They'd been circling each other in an ever-shrinking orbit since that aborted inquiry what felt like half a lifetime ago.

Part of her wanted to be a pissy, vicious bitch about being supplanted before she and Spock had even mutually declared their relationship over. The rest of her shouted that petty corner down. She and Spock both knew they were done. They were just both too heart-sore already to say the actual words and give themselves more grief. Not that they'd parted because they hated each other or anything

Nyota simply didn't have it in her to drag Spock out of the mire he had got dumped in, emotionally speaking. She felt for him, she truly did - it had to be godawful, to deal with the pain Spock had to be dealing with. But she was having a hard enough time taking care of herself and dealing with her own grief over losing more than three fourths of her graduating class, many of whom had been somewhere between 'passing acquaintances' and 'friends'. Much as she wanted to, giving Spock the help he doubtlessly needed was beyond her right now.

Jim on the other hand, seemed to have made it his life mission to keep Spock from falling apart. And he was doing it in his usual inimitable fashion. Being the irrepressible, impulsive, obstinate ass that he was, he was either completely unaware of how shockingly rude he was by Vulcan terms, or totally aware of it and doing it on purpose to shock Spock into some semblance of normalcy. Nyota had no idea which it was. She honestly didn't care, either. The point was that it worked. Every time Spock showed so much as a hint of retreating into himself, Jim was there, verbally annoying him and trampling all over a Vulcan's sense of personal space. Basically doing everything humanly possible to annoy Spock into reacting and thus drag himself out of his shell.

Literally half the crew had bets going regarding those two by this point as a result. The bets varied from when Spock would snap (again) and kick Jim's ass, to when the two had - or would - started fucking. Watching the two of them during a bridge shift was entertaining as hell, even when Nyota knew that the pair of them barely saw themselves as friends yet. Maybe especially because of that.

She could see the signs - the writing on the wall. And unlike she and Spock ... well, those two? They'd endure. Not without innumerable explosive arguments, of course - they were both of them too passionate and hot-blooded (despite Vulcans supposedly being anything but) for anything else - but they'd endure.

It was going to be the them getting there at all that would be interesting as hell. Nyota knew Vulcans didn't judge when it came to chosen partners, and Jim was the sort that couldn't possibly care less what other people did in their bedrooms, but she had no idea how either of them felt regarding relations with those of the same sex for themselves. And the stars alone knew that Jim had trust issues. Nyota didn't know the cause - well, not all the causes, anyway - and those causes she knew she'd figured out without Jim actually telling her because hello, trust issues. 

Spock, while he was doing better with interaction and relationships of any description after a year with her to help him figure things out, was still stiff and awkward and unpracticed in recognizing when an attachment (whether it was friendship or something else) was forming between himself and someone else. Plus there was the whole 'I deliberately mashed your berserk button' and 'I tried to choke you to death' issues the two of them would have to deal with at some point.

So yeah, that was not going to be a smooth get-together *at all*. Though in her happier moments, Nyota entertained herself with contemplating Jim's reaction when he realized the *entire crew* had bets on him and his First Officer and their relationship status, as they doubtlessly would by that point, and that the book had been opened before they'd gotten back to Earth after destroying the Narada. Heck, if it hadn't been for the circumstances at hand, Nyota was willing to bet the book would have been opened within an hour of the incident on the bridge. Not the first one. The second one, when they stalked onto the bridge like a pair of hunting cats, so in synch with each other it boggled the mind.

Nyota finished dealing with the shift change shortly after Chekov and Sulu left, and made good her escape. As had become something of a habit, she headed for Sickbay. Leonard hadn't been shy about recruiting her as his eyes on the bridge, wanting to at least *try* to keep Jim out of trouble if they could. They were both pretty sure that Jim knew they were tag-teaming him as best they could. Not that it would mean much when the shit inevitably hit the fan again. Jim was entirely too prone to running off with no regard to rules, regulations, common sense, or even self-preservation. Still, they had to try, and at the very least they'd be able to effect literal damage control faster if Leonard knew that shit was hitting the fan.

(_)(_)(_)

Jim was rather glad to see the back of Earth. About the only good part of being there had been seeing Pike. Jim had headed to Pike's first thing - and then spent the better part of the day on the floor, laughing his ass off at Pike's tales of life on the Board. Part of the hilarity had, yes, been finding out that some of the Admirals were having conniptions. The rest of it, though, had more to do with *how* Pike told the tale.

Pike could and did pretend to be a stone-faced humorless drone to the cadets at the Academy. Jim had found out, after the two of them had stopped yelling at each other, that Pike was actually quite a hoot. He had a fairly dry sense of humor, a fine sense of irony and the ridiculous - and was a fair mimic. Which meant that he was not above lampooning his fellow Admirals with deadly accuracy. It was damn near as good as watching a holo of the meetings or being there, to be honest. He also wasn't above warning Jim. Mostly about Komack.

"That one is going to do something exceedingly stupid and rash sooner or later." Pike had told him. "Probably sooner. He has a real hate-on for you."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed." Jim said. Komack hadn't been shy about not wanting Jim at the Academy. Which had, predictably, kicked Jim's 'I don't give a fuck' gene into high gear. "Thanks for the warning, though."

The less said about the later meeting with the Admiralty, where he'd been 'asked' to answer for his deviations from protocol and the regs regarding the negotiations with the Klingons, the better. So yeah, he was glad to see the back of Earth. The Admirals could still vid him and yell at him, but weren't likely to do so because there was no knowing, for them, if the ship was in the middle of something important and distracting the captain would result in tragedy.

Jim yanked his thoughts back to the present as he handed over command to his beta-shift replacement. Well, command of the bridge anyway. Sort of. That got ... complicated. While everyone, even Spock (at least for the Chief Science Officer part of his job) had replacements who took complete control of those jobs during the other shifts - there wasn't really any such thing as a replacement Captain or First Officer. So while both he and Spock could and did go off-shift, they were basically always on duty. The person in the center seat during Beta and Gamma shifts was basically there to yell for the Captain or First Officer if the shit hit the fan past a certain point.

By the time he and Spock finished handing over command (ish), the rest of the Alpha bridge crew had left. Jim was ... well, more worried than ever about Spock and Uhura. As far as he knew, the two of them hadn't spent time together alone since ... well, since Vulcan got blown to atoms. He wasn't about to stick his nose into the situation, of course - that way lay a shitload of trouble and pain - for him. That said, he couldn't help but worry. Spock was ... rather understandably not in a good place right now, even if he wasn't copping to it, or even showing it all that much. Having melded with Spock's older counterpart, Jim knew damn well that Spock had to be in sorry shape internally. Honestly, most of them weren't doing too terribly much better, including Uhura.

The point was that nobody was in a place where another loss would be taken well, even if this one was loss of a relationship, rather than someone's death. The only good news was that thus far, there hadn't been any drama between the two of them - or at least, none that had been seen. Gossip being what it was on a ship, such an event would have been ship-wide fodder within minutes of being observed or overheard.

"So, Spock. Got any plans for the evening?" Jim asked. He'd taken to trying to keep Spock distracted most evenings after it'd become obvious to him that Spock and Uhura were ... well, having difficulties.

"I must check in briefly with my subordinates in the Science department, as they are having difficulties with a project, but that should not take longer than an hour." Spock said.

Jim nodded. "Chess after dinner, then?" He offered. 

Playing against Spock was challenging - and entertaining as hell. Spock got so *put out* about how illogically Jim played the game sometimes. And was determined to figure out Jim's style of playing. This despite the fact that Jim demonstrably *didn't* have a particular style.

Spock nodded. "That would be acceptable, yes."

And really, some part of Jim wanted to be worried about how much he looked forward to and wanted to spend time with Spock. How he tended to find excuses to do so. Not to mention his willingness to trust Spock and respect his opinion. He'd never been like that with anyone - not even Bones, and Bones was basically his best friend.

He'd learned young never to depend on anyone for anything, especially not a good opinion of himself. So there was a corner of his mind going 'what the hell?' at him every now and again. Most of the rest of him ... couldn't seem to be bothered.

Jim had a feeling that part of it was the fact that, for all Spock was half Vulcan and had been raised as one, the two of them were scarily similar in a lot of respects personality and temperament wise. Spock just hid it, while Jim let it all hang out and frequently smacked people upside the head with it. Spock, under that Vulcan mask, was a snarky, sarcastic son of a bitch who took no shit from anyone. Even, if rumors were true, from the gods-be-damned Vulcan Council. There'd been a rumor floating around the Academy that Spock had gotten read the riot act Vulcan style for preferring Starfleet Academy to the Vulcan Academy, and promptly told the Vulcan Academy folks where to shove their opinions. Jim hadn't put any credence in the rumor before having met Spock. Now, though, he was willing to believe it. 

That was the sort of person Jim could like, respect, and make friends with - witness Bones, also a snarky, sarcastic son of a bitch who took no shit, and Uhura.

(_)(_)(_)

Spock glowered at the chess board later that evening, mentally reviewing each of Jim's previous moves and trying (without success, it had to be said) to divine some pattern to Jim's choices in hopes of defeating him this time.

They were very evenly matched. Who was ahead in the percentage of games won could and did change in the space of a single night, only for the other to regain supremacy the next. Spock had been rather shocked at Jim's skill with the game as compared to himself.

Spock was, after all, the more intelligent of the pair of them. While it was by a far slimmer margin than existed between Spock and other Humans, there was still a measurable gap. With that and logic on his side, he ought to win the preponderance of their games. And there was every likelihood that if it had been anyone other than Jim, Spock would indeed enjoy that higher percentage of games won.

But it was Jim, and as Spock had begun to realize, Jim's mind did not work like the majority of Human minds. While Jim knew and used a wide range of chess gambits, he almost never used them in the circumstances where they were meant to be used. And he was equally prone to making moves that had nothing to do with any chess gambit Spock had ever heard of. It made for an extremely illogical and completely unpredictable style of play that fascinated and challenged Spock and, as the Human saying went, drove him up a wall. 

It did not help that Jim seemed to revel in attempting to distract Spock by other means. Jim spent the larger portion of their evenings playing chess grinning in a way that Spock had come to recognize had little to do with good humor and more to do with challenge, albeit in this case a playful one. At least according to Nyota, who had been the one who helped him identify a wider range of Human facial expressions. Jim also talked a lot, and usually pursued subjects he hoped would either shock Spock or get Spock thinking about things other than the game before him. Such verbal gambits had even succeeded, though not every time.

In his own turn, Spock had discovered that being especially pedantic and obdurate when it came to logic tended to wind Jim up to the point of incoherency, when such 'logic' was used on the right subjects. That incoherency came with a resultant drop in Jim's performance on the chessboard as he was too distracted to pay attention.

As a result, the discussions that accompanied their chess matches were frequently as challenging and unpredictable as the chess playing itself. Spock was fairly sure that Jim had looked things up to talk about on a few occasions, and Spock had been forced to resort to the computer archives after a match twice. Once had been when Jim had brought up an especially esoteric subject that was not among Spock's usual interests. The second time, Spock had been fairly sure Jim was telling a bald-faced lie, but had not had the proof to hand.

Thus far, while their discussions had gotten rather energetic - at least on Jim's behalf - there had been none of the acrimony that had marked their first meeting and all but the final minutes of the Narada's defeat. Spock was perhaps less surprised than he might otherwise have been that they seemed to mesh so well. His elder self's comments on the potential for friendship between them had forewarned Spock at least a little, as had the two week return to Earth.

Spock even suspected that Jim was aware that he was being especially pedantic and obdurate much of the time when they played. Interestingly, whether or not Jim was aware, he seemed to relish the challenge of budging Spock from his stance on whatever subject he was being pedantic and obdurate about rather than becoming angry or annoyed.

Finding no pattern, Spock eyed the layout of the pieces and began the challenging task of deciding which was the most logical move to make, in the face of Jim's highly illogical playing style. There were several potential openings on the board that either of them could take advantage of. Unfortunately, all such places were but a move, two at most, from being overtaken by both sides. This made them rather dangerous places to put a piece.

And if there was any consistent fact about Jim's playing, it was that he favored bold, near-suicidal moves. So the question became which space would Jim be likeliest to go for, and which of his own pieces would be the best to get into range of that space, without weakening his own defenses unduly?

Or, perchance, was he being too logical? Might he not get further by doing something Jim could not predict? Spock eyed the board again. There were pieces of his near enough the empty areas to be of use in defending them already. Mayhap adding another was not the best move. Then Spock spotted a possibility in a corner of the middle level. If he brought one of his pawns to that spot, it would be in a position to threaten more powerful pieces. If Jim ignored the move, Spock might be able to take at least one piece before the pawn was captured. If Jim acted on the move, Spock would lose the pawn, but it might leave him an opening elsewhere. It was not the most logical move to make, either.

Spock moved the pawn.


	22. The Game Is Afoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely, deeply apologize for my long silence on this fic. As I said when I posted Families and Familiars recently, the last year has been absolute hell on my ability to write, but things have finally improved.
> 
> To make it up to y'all, here. Have an epic chapter. There are a LOT of references to the events of Star Trek: Generations in this chapter, and a cameo by a TNG character.

The Game Is Afoot

(_)(_)(_)

Klingon Empire Territory

Drakat had enjoyed his brief vacation with his family and had returned to his ship much refreshed and ready for the next challenge he would face in the name of the Union. When he got to the bridge, their orders were awaiting them. Reading them made Drakat smile.

Their orders were deceptively simple. Engage the Enterprise and learn all that was possible about the ship, the crew, and the capabilities of both. Of course, while the orders were simple enough, the unstated implications and permissions involved were far more complex.

Engaging the Enterprise would of course give them the information they so desired on that particular ship's capabilities, its crew's competence, and it's captain's ability to lead. It would also give them a look at how the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular responded to a threat to one of their member nations. That would, in turn, give them some idea of how the Federation and Starfleet would react to a strike closer to home. The real test would come when other Starfleet and Federation ships got involved. At that point, they would find out just how atypical Kirk was (or wasn't) compared to the older, more experienced captains.

Drakat had just been given carte blanche to do as he pleased in the name of acquiring the necessary information. It was an unprecedented level of autonomy for a captain of the fleet. Especially one his age. Of course, the autonomy carried with it a concomitant level of risk - Drakat knew he would have to answer for every decision he made at some point. If his superiors did not agree with his actions, he would pay a heavy price - most likely his death. If they did agree with his actions, he would reap an enormous reward. Command of an attack group was likely, if he succeeded in his tasks. Depending on the level of his success, ascension to the rank of Legate wasn't out of the realm of possibility either, despite such a thing having not been accomplished by someone his age in hundreds of years.

As with their first foray into the Federation's territory, Drakat commanded his navigator to plot a course that would keep them out of range of as many sensor arrays as possible. Unlike the first time, Drakat opted to not challenge the watchposts at the Federation/Klingon border. There was, fortunately, a way to approach the Klingon Empire's border without going too far out of their way, as there were three much smaller political entities claiming chunks of space near the Federation border along one edge. As those three entities were not apparently hostile with the Klingons - or at least not to the level the Federation was, there was no Neutral Zone with watchposts on either side, thus providing a convenient place to sneak into the Empire unremarked by anyone. Better, there were several very nice target planets just on the Klingon side of the 'line' that marked the chunk of space they claimed.

Drakat chose a target at random. This was a deliberate choice. Sifting through his choices and attacking planets in any sort of detectable pattern would eventually see them at best met with overwhelming force as they arrived at their next target. At worst, it would see them blown out of existence. While seeing how long it would take for the Enterprise (or any other Federation ship) to recognize and anticipate a pattern was valuable information, it was information best sought when backup was available for the inevitable denoument. Drakat did not have the luxury of such backup.

Time to see what the Federation and the Enterprise were really made of.

(_)(_)(_)

The Enterprise had been back in Klingon space for less than three hours when Uhura sat bolt upright in her chair.

“Sir, I'm getting a mayday from a Klingon colony world.” She rattled off the planet's name and location. “From the sounds of it, that ship is back. Or one of its friends.”

“Right. Sulu, maximum warp. Battle stations, everyone.” Jim barked. The Red Alert klaxon and lights went off instantly. “And shut the klaxon off in here, please.” 

Moments later, the klaxon went quiet. Roughly at the same time, the Enterprise shifted into warp, heading for the colony world.

“Well, so much for the dim hope it was a once-off.” Jim said. “Chekov, Sulu, let's remind these … people … what we do to people like them. Full spread, but don't blow them up. Not this time. One last warning, then we play hardball. Scare the short hairs off them. And don't forget to keep your eyes peeled for anything interesting.”

Chekov and Sulu shared a look that, quite frankly, scared the short hairs off of Jim, never mind their unknown antagonist. Then the two's hands started flying over their controls. Jim did not envy their opponent in the least. Whatever those two were cooking up was going to be spectacular.

They almost didn't drop out of warp. Almost. While they did drop out, they were still going fast enough that the stars streaked past them in very elongated lines on the viewscreen. The second they dropped out of warp, an absolute firestorm of phaser blasts and torpedoes rained down on the marauding ship. Despite not having seen it in person the last time (he'd seen the recording), Jim had a nearly-fond flashback to the near-identical maneuver the pair had pulled on the Narada.

Jim would give the other ship's navigator this much – they were good. The marauding ship didn't try to turn tail to run. It just shot straight up, clearly intending to attempt to win clear of the barrage of firepower and get to warp that way.

Unfortunately for the other ship's navigator, Chekov and Sulu were better. The Enterprise followed the marauding ship's maneuver and kept up the pressure. The Enterprise chased its opponent all over the solar system for the next five or ten minutes. Only when the other ship's shields had failed and its hull was blackened (but not pierced) by the Enterprise's shots was it allowed to escape.

Hopefully, the message would be received, understood, and heeded.

(_)(_)(_)

If the Cardassian people had not forsaken religion as a whole long ago, Drakat would have been on his knees giving thanks to every deity thought to exist in the hour or so after they escaped the Enterprise. He and his entire crew were badly shaken.

Insofar as Drakat was aware – and due to his current mission he knew more than the average Cardassian – the Federation in general was not known for its 'shoot first and ask questions later' tendencies. That was a distinctly Klingon and Romulan trait. It had never even occurred to Drakat that such a harrowing offensive was a possibility. The Enterprise coming in and posturing before firing a few warning shots, yes. What they'd gotten? Definitely not.

He would never forget the sight of the Enterprise dropping out of warp and opening up with so much firepower it looked like a miniature sun. It was only his navigator's vigilance that had kept the encounter from ending before it had truly begun. Or so it had seemed at the time.

It wasn't until nearly three hours later, after it was all over and the final damage and casualty reports had come in, that Drakat realized there had been more to the encounter than there had seemed to be at the time. Mostly because, given the amount of firepower pouring out of the Enterprise, the damage was stunningly light. A few blackened grooves in the hull and a mostly slagged shield generator. That was it. Casualties had been limited to bumps, bruises, a few cuts and a single broken wrist, all thanks to the wild maneuvers the navigator had been obliged to perform in order to evade the Enterprise's shots.

Given the Enterprise's speed and its navigator's ability to follow his ship's every move, not to mention the firepower obviously available, Drakat and his ship should have been nothing but a debris field within moments of the Enterprise dropping out of warp. Drakat was not a stupid man. He understood that a message had been sent. One that basically said 'we can destroy you at our leisure. Do not trifle with us or those under our protection lest we decide to do so.'.

Having calmed down, Drakat poured over every moment of the encounter in the sensor logs multiple times. Then he contemplated the message sent … as well as the implications of there having been a message sent at all, and what that meant for the mentality of his opponent. It was quite the intriguing puzzle.

It suggested, on the part of Kirk, both mercy and mercilessness. That he was capable of allowing a potential enemy to admit defeat and quit the field with minimal or no losses on either side. But at the same time, the message made clear that if the enemy did not heed the warning and quit the field, that Kirk could and would eliminate the threat with extreme prejudice and zero qualms. 

That Kirk had employed a significantly less harrowing version of this tactic in their first encounter with him suggested a potential pattern of tactics as well. Drakat would need to see a lot more of such behavior to consider it a habitual or preferred tactic of Kirk's however. If it proved to be such, a pattern of using overwhelming force against opponents, of hitting hard and fast in such a way, gave a great deal of insight into Kirk's mind.

That his crew carried out the message suggested either that Kirk had an iron grip on them – which Drakat found unlikely – or that they were of the same mind as Kirk in this matter. It also spoke to his navigator and tactical officers' competence and their ability to work together. It was not, as Drakat well knew, an easy thing to match an unknown ship's movements, much less match those movements and fire on them, nevermind controlling exactly where the shots did or did not hit.

It also gave him information on Starfleet. Drakat had wondered (and was required to discover, if he could) what the general attitudes towards conflict were in both Starfleet and the Federation in general. While he was nowhere near discovering the Federation's general view, this incident did provide at least a partial answer where Starfleet was concerned. There had to be at least some level of 'this is a permissible thing to do' in the organization, or Kirk would never have presumed to use such a tactic, not just once but twice. Whether that permissiveness was aimed at Kirk alone or an organization-wide thing remained to be seen. 

Drakat was of the opinion that it was organization-wide. Because if Starfleet found shooting at enemies untoward for whatever reason, either their ships would have been completely unarmed or not nearly so well-armed as the Enterprise clearly was. From what they had seen, the Enterprise was fully capable of starting – and finishing – a small scale war all on its own. With the right crew, a medium-scale war wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. And Drakat had a feeling the ship had that sort of crew aboard her.

Unfortunately, they were going to have to withdraw for now. While damage had been light, the shields were a critical system, especially in light of their mission. The damage to the generators was such that the engineering team couldn't fix it. The burned out wiring that lead to the generators, yes. The generators themselves, no. Drakat had seen what was left of the generators' innards in his chief engineer's damage report. There was nothing to be done but to remove the generators entirely and replace them.

That too, was valuable information. They now had a better idea of not just how much firepower the Enterprise possessed, but how powerful it was, and how swiftly it could be deployed. Drakat planned to demand the sort of shield generators normally reserved for warships on the front lines. They'd need them, if they were going to investigate properly without having to return to Cardassian space at inconvenient times to spend a week getting new generators and wiring installed.

(_)(_)(_)

“Well done, everyone.” Jim said after the unknown ship went to warp. “Any idea on what sort of damage they took?”

Spock piped up. “Unless they have multiple redundant systems or are capable of more cargo capacity than the Enterprise and of performing extensive repairs while in space, their shields are gone and will remain so until they get to their equivalent of Spacedock for a replacement shield generator. Other damage would depend on where, exactly, their shield generator system is located and whether or not it is explosive in nature when damaged. Extrapolating from their condition when they warped out, I believe other damage was minimal. Their life support and gravity never varied and there were no signs of fire on board in the final seconds, both of which indicate fairly low casualties and general damage.”

Was it Jim's imagination, or did Spock sound … a little disappointed? Jim reflected, briefly, on Spock's tendency towards (and approval of) overkill and decided that it probably wasn't his imagination.

“Any further insights into our opponents?” Jim asked the bridge at large.

“They are persistent.” Chekov offered. “Not many would come back after being chased off. Also, their navigator was very good. Not as good as Starfleet's best I don't think, but close. They had fast reaction times and able to compensate for what we were doing, but we weren't exactly going all out.”

“They didn't hesitate to shift planes.” Sulu said. “I know a lot of folks tend to think of space in basically a straight line, like everything aligns neatly on the same plane and there's neither reason nor room to do things like go up and over.”

Jim nodded. He didn't know about other species, but most humans had to be trained out of two dimensional thinking when it came to space travel. Some (like Sulu) – who invariably made the best navigators – didn't need that training, but they were few and far between.

“And still no attempts at contact.” Uhura added. “Though whether that's due to inability, an arrogant belief that they're the only people worth talking to, or something somewhere between those extremes is up for debate. I didn't even catch any calls home, wherever home is.”

“They also seem to engineer for durability.” Spock said. “My scans indicate it took roughly ten percent more firepower to damage their hull after shield collapse than it does for ships that size other than warships and ships designed to enter corrosive atmospheres.” The latter being a specialty of Vulcan ships, though Spock didn't say that and Jim didn't call him on it. “A not inconsiderable achievement given the ship's relatively small size.”

Generally speaking, the smaller a ship was, the less likely it would be to hold together under concentrated fire, regardless of its original purpose. That held true in every race the Federation had encountered over the years. There was a good reason for it too. Under a certain size, hull penetration (regardless of how it was achieved) meant the death of the entire crew. 

Emergency bulkheads and forcefields wouldn't do a ship that small a damn bit of good when the crew would run out of air in an hour or less due to the sheer lack of volume of air in a small ship (especially after some had vented to vacuum) if the life support went. Which was far more likely in a small ship than a larger, simply because there was a higher likelihood of the life support systems being close enough to the point of hull damage to be affected. And that was if the small ship didn't get split in half by the shot, or something of that sort. So small ships were mostly relegated to jobs that would expose them to little or no combat by most spacegoing races, which meant they really didn't need the heavy duty hulls that front-line warships got.

The only exception had been Vulcan, and the ships they had built to enter corrosive atmospheres. The kind of hull plating required to stand up to those atmospheres made Vulcan science ships very tough to destroy in a fight. Which, quite frankly, had saved Vulcan butts repeatedly since they started exploring space, as they … had … disapproved strongly of violence. That hadn't even changed in the face of Nero's first assault and the revelation (to the Federation anyway) that Romulans were, basically, exiled Vulcans. Jim did wonder though, if that attitude would undergo a change in the few survivors of Nero's second assault.

There was also scuttlebutt – as yet unconfirmed insofar as Jim knew, and given he had Uhura to pick up on and disseminate scuttlebutt even before the Narada mess, he was pretty confident in his sources of information – that Starfleet either had or was going to build a small scout craft capable of holding its own if it got cornered. Which by necessity implied a tough hull.

The K'vort class – which the mystery ship was close to in size – was about the smallest warship out there. And the Klingons (and Romulans, who had a similarly sized craft) got away with it because they had cloaking devices. Both species depended heavily on their cloaking tech to keep their ships in one piece in a fight. They both specialized in hit-and-fade guerrilla tactics that maximized their ships' effectiveness by blinking in and out of cloak while moving around in the battlefield to make it harder to hit them. In both cases, once the cloaking device was disengaged or destroyed, the ships were … rather easy to completely destroy.

“Their target choices so far seem pretty random.” Jim added after he'd contemplated what the others had offered by way of observations. “Probably deliberate on their part, to keep us from being able to figure out where they'll hit next. And they're at least smart enough to not hit something in the heart of the Empire, which would severely reduce their chances of getting out of the area considerably, even with most of the Klingon fleet gone. Though that could change if they show up again.”

“So what we've got is a fairlysecretive, thorough bunch that likes to do things fairly systematically, given their pattern thus far, and are at least reasonably cautious given what they're up to. Also, not prone to going out in a blaze of glory, so probably not a warrior race like the Klingons.” Jim thought about it a bit. “Actually, they remind me of Romulans, if they remind me of any race. At least thus far.”

There were a few nods and sounds of agreement from the rest of the crew. It was tentative at best, when it came to identifying this mystery opponent's likely courses of action, but it would do for now. Not that any of them would limit themselves to 'potential Romulan-style targets' when trying to predict their opponent, but it was a place to start, compared to taking a stab in total darkness.

(_)(_)(_)

Nexus

It was the fact that the Nexus existed everywhere and everywhen that resulted in 'echoes' of those lucky souls to truly escape its grasp remaining within the Nexus. Because while they escaped … they also did not. Because there had been a time and place where they had been caught.

For the vast majority of beings, this odd 'echo' meant nothing. They were neither aware of such a thing nor able to manipulate that 'echo' in any way, shape, or form. But for some beings – meaning those with mental gifts such as telepathy, or those few races possessed of other remarkable skills – things were different.

The El Aurian race was not, interestingly, the race with the strongest mental gifts to be caught in the Nexus. They were, however, the race to have had the most of their species caught in the Nexus at any one time. It was rare for the Nexus to pick up more than one or two people at a time, as most people saw the 'ribbon' coming and got out of its way if they could. But for a shipful of El Aurian refugees in Spock Prime's universe, getting out of the way had not been possible.

While those present at the time had had absolutely no way of knowing this, there was a reason why that shipful of El Aurians had been flickering in and out of 'existence' despite having been caught in the Nexus' grasp. While the likes of Dr. Tolian Soran and a few others (remarkable only for not having gone completely insane) wanted to remain in the Nexus, far more did not, which had resulted in a sort of tug-of-war both between themselves and between the El Aurians and the Nexus.

Those that evaded the Nexus' grasp remained intimately aware of it. Soran used this awareness to better track its movements and plan to return to it. Others either did nothing with the awareness or used it to comfort themselves without actually returning to the Nexus.

Guinan, her life already entwined with the lives if the crew of the Enterprise D thanks to time travel, was the only one to use her awareness to assist anyone else in escaping the Nexus. Not once, but twice. Once to help Picard save himself, his crew, and untold millions from Soran's mad plan.

The second time, she intervened to rescue the man who helped Picard.

Guinan knew history. Knew that Kirk had been lost to her universe since the day her refugee ship escaped the grasp of the Nexus. She had, in fact, been in the Nexus when Kirk arrived, if for only a second. She knew (once it had happened in her timeline) that the real Kirk had not, in fact, been released from the Nexus. Thanks to her awareness of it, she was also aware that Kirk began to fight against the Nexus' hold in earnest.

But like Picard, Kirk needed direction. He would be fully capable of figuring out he was being held captive, but the unique properties of the Nexus made escaping it tricky. And Kirk's situation made it trickier still. Even nearly a century after his supposed death, his name and face and legacy were well known to practically everyone in Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Him popping up anywhere, anywhen, would be noticed and reported nearly instantly. He could have (possibly) remained in hiding on some remote, sparsely populated colony world of course, but even that had its risks of discovery. And having 'met' the man, Guinan had known better than to think Kirk would do such a thing. Kirk was not made to sit idly by and do nothing.

Connected to the Nexus as she was, Guinan knew that Kirk never escaped the Nexus in her universe. But she, more than most, knew there were alternate realities out there. The problem with that solution lay in getting him to exit into one when even Guinan had no idea where he would be going or what it would be like. She had no direction to offer him, unlike with Picard.

Then, Ambassador Spock tried to save Romulus, tangled with Nero, and ended up getting sucked into a black hole. And Guinan had her direction. It did not take an especially intelligent mind to read the history of the Enterprise under Kirk and Spock to know that the two of them had on multiple occasions gone to extraordinary lengths to save each others' lives. Combined with her knowledge that 'Spock's in trouble' was the driving force behind Kirk's successful attempt to escape, and she had her surefire escape route for him. What would become of them both past that point, she did not and would never know, but that hardly mattered.

(_)(_)(_)

Kirk Prime did not know how long he struggled just to figure out what the heck was going on. Figuring out something was badly wrong? That had been surprisingly easy. Figuring out what, exactly, was going on and what he could do about it … that took a lot longer.

It didn't help that for quite some time, his memories of his brief stint aboard the Enterprise B remained buried thanks to the Nexus' efforts to retain him. Kirk Prime knowing he was being held captive was a major problem for the Nexus, but without the memory of how or when or why, Kirk Prime had been rather thoroughly stymied in his efforts to even begin to plan an escape.

Even the return of those memories didn't help. The Nexus' nature had not been known to anyone from Kirk Prime's time save the El Aurians they'd rescued even as Kirk Prime had 'died'. So all Kirk Prime knew about it was that it was an energy ribbon. Hardly much of anything to go on to figure out an escape, even for him. That said, it didn't stop him from trying. No iteration of Kirk had ever been the sort to take something like captivity without a fight.

Then, right smack in the middle of what Kirk Prime would never admit verged on a temper tantrum (He'd been throwing things around trying to break out, but his frustration was such he was being a bit less systematic about it than he should) a dark skinned, black haired woman that exuded a calm serenity appeared out of nowhere. If it hadn't been for his instincts, which were warning him not to attack, she'dve ended up getting jumped, whether that would have done him any good or not.

“Who are you? What is this place?” Kirk Prime demanded.

“My name is Guinan.” Guinan told him. “I am El Aurian. I was on the ship the Enterprise B rescued.”

Kirk Prime eyed her. “So you got captured too?”

“In a manner of speaking. It's a long explanation.” Guinan said. Then, with more than a touch of amusement at the irony. “Will you be willing to listen?”

Kirk Prime considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “Might as well.”

Guinan explained what she knew of the Nexus to Kirk Prime, as well enough of how she knew it for him to believe her.

“So you can help me get out of here.”

“Yes, but you're not going to like the rest of what I have to tell you.” Guinan told him. “Escape is relatively easy if you have a precise moment to return to. That said, you cannot return to where you came from, or any time period known to me. You are too well known for your reappearance to have gone unnoticed.” Then, as kindly as she could. “And too much time has passed since your incarceration here. It has been ninety-four years since your disappearance. Of your friends and old crewmembers, only Ambassador Spock and Montgomery Scott survive – and Scott's survival is down to a situation not all that dissimilar to this, though in his case it was voluntary.”

Explaining the whole 'stored in a transporter beam' thing in full would take too long. Yes, time here had no real meaning, but Guinan disliked immersing herself in the Nexus' falsity. The sooner she was out of here, the happier she would be.

Kirk Prime mentally staggered at the news of how long he'd been stuck here. It felt, to him, like a week at the most. The thought of his entire crew save two dead of old age or adventure was … disheartening to say the least. That he could not return to the two left alive … well. Scott, as close as they had been, that Kirk Prime could live with. Not returning to Spock, though. That wasn't an option. He didn't care how much it screwed up the timeline. He would return to Spock.

“There is, however, a solution. Without going into excruciating detail, there was a … situation … very recently with the Romulans that resulted in Ambassador Spock going through a black hole to another reality or universe. That place will already be affected by him showing up.”

Kirk Prime really didn't need to hear any more than that. Spock, alive and alone in an unknown universe, trapped there for the rest of his life. Older, certainly, but that hardly mattered. Not to either of them. It hadn't ever mattered. They'd both known Kirk Prime would die before Spock did, even if Kirk managed to live to a ripe old age. Spock's half-human heritage would make his lifespan shorter than a pureblood Vulcan, but not by much. Certainly not by enough to see him dead of old age before Kirk Prime.

It hadn't been until the last few years before his retirement that Kirk Prime and Spock had realized just how much their bond was affecting Kirk Prime. He'd been fairly well preserved at fifty. At nearly sixty when he'd gotten sucked into the Nexus, it had been becoming something people remarked upon. Kirk Prime hadn't stopped aging, but he'd slowed down enough for it to be noticeable. Unfortunately, Kirk Prime had never been one for the sort of vanity that led to age-defying medical procedures or elixirs, so he hadn't been able to explain his lack of visible aging away that way. The Nexus had swallowed him up before figuring out a believable story or somehow managing to disappear from the public eye had become a necessity.

“How, exactly, do I get where he has gone?” Kirk Prime demanded.

Guinan gave him the exact stardate of Ambassador Spock's dive into a black hole. “Keep that date fixed in your mind, and your desire to end up where Spock is. Though I would give yourself a day or two past that date to get to him. Maybe more. There's no telling what sort of situation he landed in.”

Well, Guinan knew there'd been another ship (that, from what she had learned, had been very hostile to the Ambassador's ship) caught in the black hole, but there was no way of knowing if that ship had followed Ambassador Spock. Or how closely. Just because they entered the black hole within a minute of each other didn't mean they'd exit it in the same manner. Or at all, come to that. The only one Guinan was sure of was the Ambassador, because she 'knew' Kirk had gotten out following his thread.

“What about you?” Kirk Prime asked.

“I'll be fine. What you're talking to is, essentially, an echo of my true self. It is … disconcerting … to be where I truly am and here at the same time, but I can handle it.” Guinan told him.

She, and the other El Aurians who had escaped the Nexus' grasp, had gotten used to the sensation. Or, in the case of Soran, had gone completely, stark raving mad under the strain. Sometimes, Guinan wondered if there had been a way to prevent that. And she wondered whether or not, if there had been, that she in particular would have employed it and what it would have changed. Unfortunately, there was no way to know for sure. Not now.

“Well, if your counterpart exists where I'm going, she's going to get a very confusing thank-you if I manage to find her.” Kirk Prime said, sounding a bit amused. “And thank you, now, for telling me.”

“For what it's worth.” Guinan said, knowing it was worth quite a bit. “I do know for certain you manage to escape.”

“You just don't know if I manage to get where I intend to go.” Kirk Prime finished.

“Exactly.” Guinan said, then faded out.

Kirk Prime turned everything he was towards returning to his Spock. His T'hy'la.

“Hang on, Spock. I'm coming.”


	23. A Day In The Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts, then runs away cackling like a madman*

A Day In the Life

(_)(_)(_)

The Enterprise

Kortel was … having fun. After their brief stay on Earth, Captain Kirk had arranged for Yeoman Rand to start briefing him on the rules a Starfleet ship technically ran on. She was also, in the process, helping him with his Standard. He still occasionally struggled, but mostly over how to translate a word that he didn't know the Standard equivalent of.

And Kortel did mean technically. At least in the case of Captain Kirk and the Enterprise. He had no idea if other Starfleet captains were the same way. As it was, the Enterprise operated in defiance of or by creatively defining about half the regulations Kortel had learned thus far.

A lot of the rules were disconcerting for Kortel. Mostly thanks to the degree of … self-expression permitted. On a Klingon ship, one simply did not criticize a superior officer unless said superior was truly incompetent and/or you were in a position of sufficient strength to overtake that superior's position. Disobeying orders for any other reason verged on being heretical. Complaining about ill treatment was simply a waste of time. Disagreements between those of equal rank (or between an ambitious subordinate and superior) were settled via combat.

It was pretty much the exact opposite in Starfleet. Kortel, as adaptable as he considered himself, had a tough time most days keeping from snapping at someone or cringing away from an anticipated, brutal physical slap-down from a superior officer as he watched the crew interact. The worst part of it was that he wasn't a typical, warrior-class Klingon, raised and trained to serve on the Fleet, so his reactions to the Enterprise crew were milder to start with. Other less adaptable Klingons were going to have a lot of trouble adjusting. And the first actual officer – meaning someone Lieutenant or above in the Starfleet ranking system – was probably going to come dangerously close to having a mutiny on their hands before they adjusted to how Starfleet permitted its people to be led.

Kortel and Rand were having another meeting today about the various rules, and Kortel finally decided to say something about the potential problem. When he'd finished, instead of being angry, Rand, in her turn, immediately began asking questions and taking notes.

“If your people are going to successfully integrate into Starfleet, we're going to have to make some adjustments.” Rand told him. “We do this with every new member-race. At least these days we have a better idea of how to go about it. I've read one or two of the historical transcripts of Vulcans and Humans just trying to figure each other out, never mind anything else. What a mess. It's kind of a miracle we didn't write each other off as lost causes and go our separate ways, to be honest.”

Kortel couldn't quite suppress an amused snort. “It would have been interesting to be able to observe.” He said. He'd heard the 'we can and will make adjustments' spiel before, but it was reassuring to hear it from more than one source. Not that he thought Kirk was lying, but just because he in particular was so willing to adjust and adapt didn't mean everyone else would be. 

“Tell me about it.” Rand said with a grin. “Ok, so, from what you said, the Klingon chain of command is a lot stricter. And problems tend to get fixed with fights, one way or the other, is that right?”

“Yes.” Kortel said.

“Hmmm. Good to know. I have no idea how we'll work around the 'settle it with fights' bit, but that's not my job. My job is to help you understand how we run, and find out how the Empire's fleet runs. Somebody else gets the headache of figuring out how to get the two to mesh, at least on a bigger scale.” Rand chuckled. “I would not be at all surprised if Kirk would be perfectly comfortable settling disputes the Klingon way. He's got a three-year history behind him of being less than impressed with Starfleet bureaucracy.”

Kortel gave another amused snort. “I have heard rumors to that effect. Not to mention owe my presence on this ship to it. It is part of why he has had so much success with my people, I think. While he does not act truly Klingon, he gets a good bit closer than most humans I have heard tell of. It makes it easier to understand and work with him.”

Rand cocked her head to the side, visibly thinking that one through. “Yeah, I think I can see it. Close but not quite. He sure did seem to understand how to talk and act without trying all that hard when we got assigned to trying to work out a treaty. I honestly wish I could have been there to see it all. From what I've heard it was pretty awesome.”

“I heard much the same. It's what encouraged me to try for this, when word filtered down that Kirk was looking to add a Klingon to his ship's roster.” Kortel said. “Now, run the grievance process past me again? That's the bit I'm having the most trouble with.”

“Given what you just told me, I'm not surprised.” Rand said. “Right. So. If a coworker is being problematic but hasn't taken it to a physical level, you talk to your shift supervisor, tell them what's going on. They'll deal with it from there. If someone's idiot enough to jump you, that skips a few steps and goes straight to the department head – in your case, that'd be Lieutenant Giotto. Chances are, in that sort of a situation, Giotto'd throw your attacker in the brig and bring the whole thing to Kirk, who'd probably just kick the idiot off the ship, though there are other options.”

“If it's your shift supervisor or a superior officer who isn't in your immediate chain of command – meaning, anyone who isn't in the Security forces – that's being a problem, you'd bring it to either Lieutenant Giotto, if the problem officer doesn't outrank him, or to Kirk if they do outrank Giotto or are the same rank.” Rand said. “It does work slightly differently for most – your position as something between a guest and an officer participating in an officer exchange program complicates things a bit. Most problems that Lieutenant Giotto doesn't have the rank to deal with would go to the First Officer. It's only when there's special guests, ambassadors, or anyone ranked captain or above involved that things go straight to the captain of the ship, and sometimes the captain of the ship has to pass the problem up the chain of command to the Fleet Admirals.”

“Not that I expect this, but if it's Lieutenant Giotto that's the problem?” Kortel asked.

“Go straight to Kirk, in your case. The First Officer in anyone else's.” Rand said immediately. “Ok, now a question from me. I read somewhere your people don't have religion anymore. Is that true?”

“Yes. According to legend, our ancestors got fed up and killed our gods.” Kortel said. “Why do you ask?”

“Two reasons. One – we need to know if your people have a problem with religions in general. While most Federation races don't have religions, there are some that do.” Rand said. “And Starfleet does its best to accommodate its member-races' needs. Which includes things like allowing for the time and/or space necessary to worship. For instance, while we don't currently have anyone with religion aboard, but one of our lounge rooms is specifically designed to be usable as a place of worship if such a thing is needed.”

“We also make allowances for other things. For instance, no bonded Vulcan is ever required to be separated from their spouse.” Rand said. “If they can handle it and are willing, that's one thing. Starfleet is expressly forbidden from forcibly separating them, though. There are other races that have stuff like that, too.”

“Ah, this was mentioned in the past.” Kortel admitted. “The only things along those lines I can think of is that no Klingon would willingly go anywhere unarmed. Specifically with a bladed weapon. Most Klingons in the Fleet carry at least three knives, one larger bladed weapon, and if they have one a bat'leth.”

“What's a ba … “ Rand hesitated, then tried a second time. “Batlet.”

“Close. Bat'leth.” Kortel repeated, carefully stressing the sounds.

“Bat'leth.” Rand copied, half swallowing the word in the process. 

But then, from what Kortel had seen, humans almost had to do that to get the pronunciation of most Klingon words correct. He nodded acceptance of her still-slightly-mangled pronunciation. It was close enough.

“A bat'leth is a very large, curved weapon with multiple grips.” Kortel told her. “Both of the Ambassadors had them.”

Rand thought back to the weapons she'd seen the Klingon ambassadors bring with them. “Oh! Ok, I think I know which one you're talking about. I remember because they were really big and the only weapons the ambassadors brought that didn't seem to have a carrying case or a sheath.”

Kortel nodded. “Bat'leths are special to my people. You should perhaps have it noted to never ask to touch or carry a Klingon's bat'leth. Those that have them are either the Head or Heir to a warrior House, or managed to win one for extraordinary valor in battle. Most of them have been handed down, father to eldest son, for generations.”

It was, of course, possible to touch and in certain circumstances even use another Klingon's bat'leth, but doing so required a certain sort of (very brief) ceremony and respect or, in the case of using it, the original owner being dead, your own life being in jeopardy and yourself either deprived of weapons or with no weapon large enough to fend off a bat'leth or one of the larger swords. For now, however, it was just better for everyone involved that the Federation operated under a 'do not touch' policy.

Rand did indeed make a note of that. “Right. Bat'leths are off limits. Anything else?”

“We all also wear something that denotes our House. A lot of warriors incorporate their House symbol into their armor somewhere on the torso, but the rest of us just wear a brooch or torc.” Kortel reached up to touch his own House torc, which to the uneducated eye probably looked more like a fancy shirt collar than an actual torc.

Rand blinked. “That's what those are? We thought they were awards for service of some sort.” She said.

“No. We do have such things, but they are not worn except at special ceremonies. The various brooches you see on crew uniforms actually identify the ship they serve on, what division they serve, and their rank.” Kortel told her. “Those crewmen who have mates will also have a brooch for their mate's House as well, and if they have children, one for each of them.”

“Ok, now that has me curious. Most of those I can understand – ship brooches for when you're not on your ship, etc. But why the ones for mates and children?” Rand wanted to know.

“As much of a warrior's pride as might be bound up in their ability to fight with honor, some of it also resides in their ancestors … and their ability to continue their legacy.”

“Which can only be done through a mate and children. So having both gives you a bit more status.” Rand guessed.

“Essentially correct. You wouldn't understand the finer points without a much better understanding of our culture.” Kortel said. “Which will take a bit of time to get, but is at least now possible.”

“Fair enough. You and your people are in the same position when it comes to human culture.” Rand said. “We'll get there. Hopefully without any major problems along the way. Little problems are inevitable, but the big ones … yeah, those we can hopefully avoid.”

“Agreed.” Kortel said, then sighed. “Though the biggest problem is something none of us can prevent.”

“Oh?” Rand asked.

“Yes. The 'take a superior's position if you defeat them in combat' promotions work everywhere, not just the Fleet.”

Rand wasn't slow to figure out what Kortel was saying. Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh dear. So someone on the Council who disagrees with joining the Federation … “

“Exactly. I know some Councilors got bounced off the council in disgrace, but there might be one still on the council who is willing to wait and watch for an ideal opportunity.” Kortel said. “Though they will be unlikely to make a move so long as the Empire joining the Federation continues to enjoy more favor than it does disfavor with the general public, and Maktor maintains his position of strength. How he deals with the disgraced Councilors if they try to do something will have a lot of influence on how he is perceived.”

“Is there anything at all we can do?” Rand asked.

Kortel thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Other than continue as you have begun, no. Any changes in your approach would be as likely to cause problems as they would solve them. The same for any of you speaking openly in support of Maktor.”

“Because it might be perceived as us sticking our noses where they don't belong.” Rand said with a nod.

“Exactly.” Kortel said.

“Ok, on last, very probably troublesome question for today. Not that it's likely in the immediate future, but if we continue friendly, it will be … how would a desire to become the mate of a Klingon be viewed?” Rand asked.

Kortel blinked, but understood why she was asking. Some races, after all, might forbid such a thing for any of a number of reasons. It was best to know such a thing would be a problem before it actually became one because some member of another Federation race became enamored of a member of the newly admitted race.

“It would be tolerated at the very least, and welcomed by most.” Kortel said. “There have been those that mated members of our protectorate races, a few who mated Romulans when our relations with them were friendly, and so on. It's very rare, though and almost always initiated by the non-Klingon. Less due to prejudice and more to the fact that Klingon courtship and mating are … “ 

Kortel hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out how to say it. “Vigorous in the extreme.” He finally settled on. “And not many non-Klingons can handle it, so most of my people don't even look to non-Klingons as potential mates. Anyone that succeeds in becoming a Klingon's mate is automatically accorded the honor of being considered an honorary Klingon, and treated as such, including actual citizenship. If cross-breeding is possible, the children would automatically receive Klingon citizenship as well. Actually, it would take several generations of not interbreeding with Klingons before the descendants of such a pair would cease to be automatically accorded Klingon citizenship.”

“Good to know, and actually pretty common.” Rand said. “I know most of our member races that allow mixed-race pairings consider both the children and grandchildren of such a pairing citizens. A few go further than that.”

(_)(_)(_)

New Vulcan

Selik had finally made his way to the informally-dubbed New Vulcan with Saavik. While the Vulcan Embassy on Earth would remain a hive of activity for years, possibly even a decade or more while the colony world was settled, the worst crush had finally eased enough that the need for diplomats to ease the way had lessened. In contrast, more and more people from every race and walk of life were making their way to New Vulcan, and diplomats who were familiar with the various races and could help prevent problems before they started were in high demand.

People were everywhere. A temporary village had sprung up near the chosen site for the first true city in the weeks since the colony had been founded.

The temporary village was, rather like the Vulcan Embassy on Earth in the weeks after Vulcan's destruction, an absolute hive of activity. It had been situated such that one of its edges was mere steps from the hard, bare rock and thin layer of sand that formed part of the city's planned border. This plain was in near-constant use as a landing zone for spacecraft. Each ship was promptly swarmed and stripped of its cargo in a startlingly swift and efficient manner. Any volunteers aboard were equally swiftly and efficiently sorted out.

Some of the cargo was brought directly to the city, as it was material for the construction of buildings or pathways. The rest disappeared into the numerous laboratories, workshops, storage facilities and prefab domiciles that made up the temporary village.

Selik caught sight of no less than six other Federation races hustling about in the melee. There was the possibility that some of the seemingly Human volunteers he spotted were actually one of the species that looked very much like a Human but were not, adding further diversity. 

Interestingly, he saw no small number of children of varying ages and species as well as adults. Some of the children, Selik soon realized, were being utilized as communication couriers between various groups, mostly those working in the city proper and those in the village. Selik presumed that communicating via other means was problematic for some reason (it could be as simple as the noise of construction making comm calls hard to understand). The rest of them seemed to be involved in assisting with species gathering and identification for both flora and fauna, if the specimen containers some of them carried as they hurried down the various village paths were anything to go by.

Selik himself, Saavik tucked into the crook of his elbow, was immediately escorted to a domicile that housed four other adult male Vulcans of varying age, with an infant a few months older than Saavik, and three older orphaned Vulcan children under their care. Similar groupings had been put together to house and watch over the orphaned Vulcan children regardless of whom their guardian might be. This was an attempt to ensure the children had an adult watching over them even if one or more of their caretakers succumbed to grief or mental trauma.

For the most part, there was a sense of good cheer and great industry over the whole effort. Oh, the Vulcans of course were anything but good humored, but the volunteers more than made up for that in multiple ways. That said, Selik noticed the problem very quickly.

Perhaps it was because Selik hadn't been dealing with as many Vulcans as he had non-Vulcans in the last weeks that he noticed. Or because those Vulcans he had dealt with had mostly been either too young or too old to suffer Pon Farr. More likely, however, it was the experience of his own much-delayed and unbelievably problematic onset of Pon Farr that made him a bit more sensitive to the signs and symptoms of the same in others of his people.

Selik had, when he was young, hoped to be spared Pon Farr entirely. Certainly, it had seemed like he would be. He'd been something like a decade late for his first, which had contributed to his thinking he'd never suffer it. 

But within days of his arrival on New Vulcan, Selik noticed that a rather large number of Vulcan men were … well, twitchy. Twitchy in a way that did not speak to grief and pain, but to another problem entirely. By the end of his fourth day, he'd discovered that no less than fifty Vulcan men had suffered through altered Pon Farrs since Vulcan's destruction. Either they'd been a few days to a week late, or roughly the same amount early.

The late ones didn't trouble Selik. It was to be expected, given the circumstances. The loss of a close relative, or multiple deaths of those distantly or not related – if those deaths took place in physical proximity – to the male near Pon Farr always resulted in Pon Farr being late. The early ones, however … those were a problem. And a big one. While deaths weren't the only reason a Pon Farr could be late, Pon Farr only came early – and by two days at most – when the male Vulcan and his mate lived in the same domicile for at least two months before Pon Farr was due to hit. The availability of one's mate allowed for Pon Farr to be a bit early. Any other disturbance from the norm resulted in a late Pon Farr.

Selik had the sinking feeling the early Pon Farrs weren't going to stop at being a couple days early, either. If they didn't, the Vulcan people had a rather horrific problem on their hands. While some of those who'd been off Vulcan had mates, most didn't, and none of those who had escaped Vulcan itself had mates.

No mate meant no one to ease the fires of Pon Farr. A Pon Farr without a mate meant death. And they potentially had very little time in which to conquer or set aside their grief and begin to search for a new mate. Which was not as simple as finding someone you got along with or were even physically attracted to. There had to be mental compatibility as well.

Worse still, while there were some few unmated Vulcan women, there were not nearly as many as there were unmated Vulcan men. Which meant that no matter what, a search for mates outside the remaining Vulcan population would be required. Which would start its own mass of controversy. Thus far, those that had been hit by Pon Farr, late or early, had still-living mates. That was not a trend that would continue.

Selik looked down at Saavik in his arms. At least he would be spared those ravages. He was not quite old enough to escape them naturally. Having lost not only his t'hy'la but the mate he'd accepted when he continued to suffer Pon Farr despite that loss, his body had finally shut down. It had been a relief, because Selik hadn't been able to countenance sharing such an intimacy with anyone else.

Selik, again thanks to his late and problematic start of Pon Farr, could perhaps be forgiven for not realizing there might have been a reason his Pon Farrs had continued despite Jim's death. Their bond might have been interfered with, but while it had been enough to convince Selik's conscious mind that Jim was gone … his subconscious hadn't been fooled in the slightest. Fully developed, the T'hy'la bond was something to behold, with the ability to shrug off all but the most intense interference. And what it could not shrug off, it endured so long as both halves of the bond were still alive. Even then, the death had to be several hours or more old before the bond finally shriveled, in the rare occurrences that only one partner died.

Selik was lucky there had been a substitute around he could tolerate. Back in the Dark Ages of the Vulcan species, when clans and tribes had been at war more often than not and the existence of the T'hy'la bond was new knowledge and the bond itself largely not understood, things had happened.

In the modern day, those that studied both T'hy'la and the bond itself theorized that the bond had come into existence as an attempt to keep the Vulcan people from committing self-genocide. Always, in the days pre-Surak, T'hy'la pairs had been from warring clans, or two non-warring clans facing a mutual horrific threat. The pair, both invested in keeping their blood relations alive, inevitably began to try to soothe relations between the two, or deal with whatever dire situation was at hand. In most cases, such efforts had extended to other clans, stabilizing them (or making them safe from the looming threat).

Post-Surak, T'hy'la pairs had become both less common and less likely to be facing great difficulties when they did occur. House feuds, of course, had ceased to exist entirely after a time, and so ceased to be a reason that T'hy'la might come to be.

At any rate, in the very earliest days, before anyone had understood what the bond was or how it worked, pairs had been forcibly separated and quite a few attempts to break or subvert the bond had been attempted, including killing or almost killing one of the pair. While what, exactly, had been done had eventually been lost to time, the knowledge that nothing could break the bond once it was fully formed had survived.

Selik gave himself a mental shake. It was perhaps understandable that he'd found himself thinking of Jim with great frequency since his confrontation with Nero. In a way, he was grieving that old and very painful loss anew. For the second time. Picard had been kind enough to tell him of the events surrounding Jim's … well, second death, he supposed, precipitating the first round of renewed grief. Now, he was gone from the universe where his T'hy'la had been laid to rest and all he had of him aside from memories was the pendant he'd worn every day of his life since Jim's first death.

New grief layered over old grief layered over new grief. It seemed to be a theme in his life. Well, at least in these latter days he'd found some shred of contentment in raising Saavik, not to mention a relief from the unrelenting loneliness.

(_)(_)(_)

Nexus

Guinan had done all she could. Which had been a not inconsiderable amount. Unfortunately, she had lacked a precise moment 'on the other side' for Kirk Prime to 'return' to. Fate, and the T'hy'la bond, took care of the rest.

Fully developed, the T'hy'la bond was something to behold. This bears repeating because through no fault of their own, those scholars of the bond, and those lucky few to experience it for themselves, had never been through literally everything that could possibly be thrown at the bond. It took extraordinary circumstances to even suppress the bond to the point the pair could no longer sense each other. It was literally impossible to break outside of permanent death. Dying for a few seconds or minutes or however long the victim had before they could not be revived by existing medical means wasn't enough. Not even being in entirely different realities and times was enough. Not even being in a very liquid and mutable definition of place and time was enough.

Kirk Prime knew who he was aiming for. He knew a general when and why. All he'd needed was a beacon to find that precise landing spot.

Kirk, in all his permutations, was unbelievably stubborn, with strength of mind and will enough to force the very fabric of reality to bend to his whims. He had altered not just the realities he was born in, but multiple others besides every time.

Kirk Prime was, perhaps, not the most stubborn of all the Kirks to ever exist, but he was definitely one of the ones to exhibit that trait the most. Kirk Prime had turned his own reality inside out multiple times. He'd thrown massive wrenches into at least one other alternate reality, if not directly than through his effect on his First Officer.

The Nexus hadn't had a chance in hell of retaining Kirk Prime once he knew what his situation was. Even without Guinan's assistance, he would have gotten out. Just not in the best place to get out, given how the Nexus worked.

More by instinct than anything, Kirk Prime manipulated the Nexus to his own ends, 'arriving' first at the appropriate time – to whit, after Nero's tantrum in his home universe. Then came the hard part.

Despite more than a little evidence that implied otherwise, Kirk Prime was not truly telepathic, empathic, or otherwise endowed with mental gifts. This had made anything more than a passive awareness of Spock-now-Selik through their bond difficult to achieve. Kirk Prime's distaste for sedentary activities didn't help any either. But see above re: being stubborn as hell. It had been hard to learn, and even years later was still not easy to actually do, but Kirk Prime had learned how.

Now, he 'reached', seeking his bondmate's exact location. It changed a few times. Kirk Prime, enveloped in the Nexus as he was, was unaware of how much time elapsed between moves. But then came the move where not only did Selik's mind resonate with 'I'm staying put', but with 'I miss Jim', or a briefly stronger flare of that last than seemed to be the norm, anyway.

The beacon was lit. And with the single-minded purpose for which he was known, Kirk Prime followed it to the only home he'd ever truly cared about.

(_)(_)(_)

Selik had had a full day, helping the various teams coordinate and dealing with any small issues that had come to light. He had noticed that all the non-Vulcans seemed to be doing everything in their power to keep any drama to a minimum, so there hadn't been any big problems to deal with. A kindness that his brethren would doubtlessly thank them for (if only in the privacy of their own minds) if they were made aware of it. As it stood, most of the Vulcans seemed oblivious. Selik had a feeling that it was only his long association with Humans and the Rihannsu that allowed him to pick up on it so easily.

Saavik had spent much of the time between her dinner and her bedtime doing her level best to talk. Not that she was managing much more than the simplest single-syllable words in both Standard and the Vulcan language, but she was trying. Rather vivid, if somewhat incoherent, mental visuals accompanied the stream of somewhat incomprehensible chatter, filling in the gaps and making it more understandable. For the most part. Untrained and young as she was, Saavik frequently sent things she either hadn't intended to, or that made absolutely no sense whatever.

She was finally asleep now, however, and Selik took the opportunity to deal with a bit of paperwork. Adding to the ever-growing census of who was on-planet volunteering for what, and for how long, and adding the names and Houses of those Vulcans that came straight to the colony rather than the Embassy on Earth.

Hah. Fully half of those that came directly to the colony were no more Vulcan than McCoy had been. They were, rather, Rihannsu. Ones who had defected from the Romulan Empire, and one or two spies that might still be loyal to same. Selik had marked the latter for observation. He'd not rat them out just yet since they might just defect, but at the first sign of something illicit, they'd find themselves deported.

The only warning he got that everything he knew or thought he knew was about to be changed and challenged – again – was a sudden sense of presence, almost a physical pressure on his person. Then, between one breath and the next, a supernova went off inside Selik's mind. And from a corner of his mind long gone dark, a roar of triumph and a sudden, almost painful sense of awareness, of the presence of someone long absent.

Before he could quite get a handle on that, Selik was abruptly not alone in the room anymore. Selik blinked at the man who had appeared out of nowhere. Finally pushed beyond his not-inconsiderable limits, Selik slumped as his body momentarily shut down to deal with the shock.

Once things settled down, Kirk Prime was going to tease Selik for decades about fainting.


	24. All The Fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All. The. Fluff.
> 
> Not kidding. There's *just* enough angst and/or serious talk to keep your teeth from rotting in your head. The rest is the Primes being exceedingly fluffy, domestic and out-and-out adorable.
> 
> Also: This chapter is from Kirk Prime's point of view, so most of the chapter, Selik is being called Spock, because he doesn't know about the name change.

All The Fluff

(_)(_)(_)

New Vulcan

Reconnecting fully with Spock through their bond … kind of hurt. It made Kirk Prime's head throb more than a little. But it was also … well, like losing an arm, and then waking up one day and the arm was back. Exciting, relieving … and a little bewildering. Not that he got all that much time to contemplate things. Because Spock collapsed about three seconds after Kirk Prime arrived.

Not that he blamed Spock. He'd been … gone … for a really long time. A bit over half of Spock's life to date. And for all they'd both done some deeply unbelievable things, apparently coming back to life multiple decades after you died wasn't something they'd managed before this.

He jumped forward to keep Spock from sliding right off his chair and hitting the ground. Not that it was all that easy. Spock was considerably taller than he was, and heavier. Or, well, he should have been heavier. He still was, a little, but nowhere near the solid, heavy weight Kirk Prime remembered so clearly.

He didn't like the implications. Nor did he like how old Spock looked. Oh, the old thing was inevitable, but like the old Earth saying, it wasn't the years, it was the mileage. Spock was somewhere in his one hundred and fifties, if Guinan was right on how long it had been between his being swallowed by the Nexus and Spock coming here. And while Spock's human blood meant he'd have a shorter lifespan than the usual Vulcan, they lived well into the two hundreds. Humans regularly made it into the hundred and twenties, with as much as a hundred and fifty being possible if you were lucky. So while Spock was elderly, he wasn't yet so far beyond the maximum possible lifespan of a human that he should look ancient. Yet he did.

It kind of made Kirk Prime want to kick someone's ass. Except in this case he's pretty sure the ass he ought to be kicking is his own. Losing him could not have been easy on Spock.

He just barely managed to get Spock transferred to a small couch in the equally small living area of … wherever they were … when there was a querulous noise from what Kirk Prime guessed to be a bedroom. Specifically, a very particular sort of noise that Kirk Prime recognized, even if he hadn't had much association with the source of the noise. An infant.

He poked his head into the bedroom, and found a Vulcan infant sitting up in a crib, scowling blackly in the direction of the door even as it voiced its displeasure. Kirk Prime couldn't quite resist the amused noise he made. He walked over.

“It's all right little one.” He said. “Spock's just had a bit of a shock, is all. He'll be up and around any minute.”

Yeah, the kid wasn't buying it, if that look was anything to go by. Of course, it was equally probable the kid didn't understand him. Spock had told him that Vulcan kids developed faster than human kids did, but he had no idea just how much faster.

Somewhat hesitantly, he scooped the kid out of the crib. He let out a sigh of relief when it immediately became obvious that the kid was fully capable of holding itself upright. Kirk Prime didn't quite trust himself to hold a baby young enough to require head support.

He took the kid out to where Spock was, and sat down in the chair. He and the kid studied each other for a bit. Kirk Prime was more than a little curious as to why there was such a young infant hanging out with Spock. Maybe it was a (very, insanely) little sibling of sorts? Kirk Prime had no idea if Sarek and Amanda were alive at the moment, or how old they were, but given the right variables, a little sibling was possible.

Hell, for all he knew, this was baby Sybok. Which thought made him give the kid a sharp look.

“No going batshit insane.” He told it firmly. He was tempted to peek and check to find out its sex, but figured it could wait for Spock to come back around.

Which took less than five minutes. The poor guy sat bolt upright, moving so fast and unexpectedly that Kirk Prime jerked backwards and very nearly bobbled the kid. Which movement caught Spock's attention. Spock stared for almost a full minute, clearly trying to figure out if he was hallucinating or something. But after about a minute, Spock let out a choked noise.

Roughly ten seconds after that, they were both curled up on the couch, the kid sort of squished between them, clinging to each other. Spock was shaking. Badly. Kirk Prime suspected that he might actually cry.

Kicking his own ass was looking like a better and better idea by the minute. Spock had fought the emotions thing tooth and nail, before Kirk Prime had gotten sucked into the Nexus. It had taken a lot for him to visibly show emotions. Really, ridiculously a lot. As in, he mostly had to be under the influence of some weird alien shit to show emotion. There had, of course, been times when he hadn't been under the influence, but yeah.

“How?” Spock asked, when he finally pulled himself together.

“Apparently, I got sucked into the energy ribbon.” Kirk Prime told him. “It played with my mind. I kept reliving stuff that happened prior to having met you. Not sure why. Then I suddenly got the impression you were in trouble, and well … “

Nothing further needed to be said, really. They'd both done some deeply crazy shit to save each others' lives. But there were a few things worth telling.

“I got some help. Some lady by the name of Guinan. She told me coming back … “ Kirk Prime waved a hand. “Back home wasn't really an option. It'd have been noticed.” Kirk Prime had agreed with her. He had been entirely too well known for his reappearance to go unnoticed. “Then she told me you picked a fight with a Romulan and ended up on the other side of a black hole, and I could follow you there. Here. Wherever here is. So I did.”

Spock sort of nodded.

Kirk Prime was really … kind of starting to freak out a little, here. Spock was acting weird. Well, he'd get what was wrong out of him sooner or later.

“So who's this?” He asked, indicating the infant.

There was a long hesitation, and then, quietly. “Saavik.”

“Named for, or actually her?” Kirk Prime asked. After all, he still didn't know when or where he was other than 'with Spock'.

“It is she. But it is … complicated.” Spock said.

Hoo boy. If Spock was calling something complicated, it was time to head for the fallout bunkers.

“Right. Start at the top, maybe? With how you even got here?” Kirk Prime asked.

So Spock started talking. Explaining the Nero mess. Ironically enough, virtually identically to how he'd explained it to the Jim Kirk of this reality. Including blaming the entire mess on himself.

Kirk Prime immediately slapped him upside the back of his head. Twice, just to make sure he felt it. “Bull. Shit.” He snapped. “It is not your goddamned fault that some bugfuck nuts Romulan threw a tantrum, Spock. I know you. You did everything in your power to fix things. Yeah, it apparently wasn't enough, and that's terrible. But you are not responsible for how people react when nasty shit goes down.” He poked Spock in the chest. “So quit that guilt trip shit right now, you hear me?”

Some of the lines around Spock's eyes eased, and he gave Kirk Prime a very fond look. “How I have missed you, ashayam.”

Kirk Prime couldn't have stopped the fond grin if he'd wanted to. “I missed you to. Even when that place was doing everything it could to make everything seem perfect … something was always missing.”

They somewhat reluctantly got up at that point, because Saavik started to make it clear she wanted fed. It was a rather interesting dance, as neither of them wanted to be out of touching range of the other. Fortunately, they had learned how to work around each other in small spaces over the years.

Food eaten, they reconvened on the couch.

“So. Batshit crazy Romulan happened. You landed here. What happened then?” Kirk Prime wanted to know.

Spock cringed. Kirk Prime shot him a flat look and lifted one hand, fully ready to smack him again if he started with the 'my fault' thing again. 

Spock explained about Vulcan right off, and this time it was Kirk Prime's turn to cringe. Because ouch. Kirk Prime pulled Spock into a more full-body, firmer hug.

“Tell me this asshole is dead. Because if he isn't, I'm going to have to go hunting.” Kirk Prime growled.

“I am unsure.” Spock said with some reluctance. “I … met your counterpart. It was quite confusing. He was much younger than you were when we first met. From what he said at the time, his and my counterparts' relationship was … quite adversarial.”

Kirk Prime eyed Spock. “Let me guess. You tried to nudge them into being friends.”

The blank-faced 'superior Vulcan' look was telling as all hell. Kirk Prime laughed. “You did.”

“Most interestingly, Delta Vega here is an ice planet. One to which a very young Montgomery Scott had been exiled. Apparently following a rather ill-advised experiment regarding transporters.” Spock said, completely ignoring Kirk Prime's comment like he hadn't even made it.

“I later discovered that not only was your counterpart born weeks early and in space – losing his father within minutes of his birth – rather than in Riverside, but that Chekov had been born roughly five years early.” Spock said, then motioned to Saavik. “And Saavik six years early, and not on Hellguard. Though I count that as a mercy.”

Kirk Prime frowned slightly in thought as he considered those changes. “Yeah, that's odd, if good for her. I wonder why?”

“I am uncertain.” Spock said. “It is passing strange that the entire crew we knew and spent two five year missions with were either in their final year at Starfleet, instructors at same, or otherwise in such a place as to be able to be added to the crew roster a full decade before time.”

“Yeah, that is screwy.” Kirk Prime admitted. “So we're, what, on New Vulcan, then?”

“Yes. I have taken the name Selik. My father in this continuity is aware I am his son from another, as are our counterparts. No one else, to my knowledge, knows who I truly am.”

“I'm going to have to alter my appearance.” Kirk Prime said. “The age difference between you and your counterpart's enough to keep people from guessing the truth, but … “

“Your counterpart does not look overmuch like you, ashayam.” Sp - (no, Selik, the name was Selik) said, breaking in before Kirk Prime could finish the sentence. “In truth, he is very little like you, in body or spirit. Just enough for me to recognize him for who he was.”

“But you're a lot more familiar with me than most people.” Kirk Prime said. “So … might not need to alter my appearance. Just pick a new name.”

“None of the names from your immediate family will suit. Your brother is still alive, here. In point of fact, he and his wife and children are here on New Vulcan.” Selik told him.

Kirk Prime blinked. “They … “ He heaved a sigh of relief. They weren't on Deneva. That was all that mattered. “Was that your doing?”

“No. I believe it was your counterpart's, but I have not been able to confirm that.” Selik said.

“Huh. Well, I'll think about a new name, try to come up with one before dealing with people becomes a necessity.”

“I will have to make appearances daily.” Selik said. “All of the remaining Vulcans are being closely watched in hopes of preventing them from succumbing to grief. If I am not seen, they will come looking for me. Especially because I have Saavik in my care. There are also three other adults and three other children who live in this domicile. We each have small separate spaces.” Selik waved a hand at the tiny kitchen, 'living room', bedroom and bathroom. It was slightly smaller than their individual quarters on the Enterprise A put together. Which is to say, small. “And a joint living space to allow the children to interact, and the adults to ascertain each others' welfare and consult on projects as needed.”

“Right, so. Go for a stroll, then.” Kirk Prime said. “I'll be Jack Smith.”

Because like hell he was letting Selik out of his sight. And even if he had been so inclined, the newly-minted Jack sincerely doubted that Selik would want to let him out of his sight. They'd make their appearance, then hole up for the rest of the day, if Jack was reading Selik right. Which he usually did.

They might have been a right pair of stubborn idiots about getting together, but it had given them time to truly know each other inside and out before the sex got added into things.

“We shall first have to change your attire, ashayam.” Selik said. “It would draw attention and engender questions. Fortunately, I have a few spare robes that might be repurposed.”

Jack made a face but didn't overtly object. Vulcan robes weren't his idea of high fashion, but they were better than nothing – and easier to alter to fit Jack than most other clothing.

It took about a half hour to tack up the hem on the robe enough that Jack wouldn't trip over it, and do the same with the over-long sleeves. It was voluminous enough – if only just – to permit Jack's more … well-padded … frame to fit without having to let seams out or the like. The tailoring job wouldn't hold up to more than a brief walk-about but that's all they needed right now. If he kept his hood up, people would mistake him for a Vulcan. Even if they didn't, Vulcan-style clothing was made for the sort of hot, dry weather they preferred, so not much of anyone would look at him strangely for wearing it.

Jack found himself reluctantly amused at how fast and efficient Selik's version of 'being seen' was. He spent all of about five minutes checking in with his … well, dorm-mates for lack of a better way to put it. Then, with Jack in tow, they marched straight to what Jack assumed was where Selik spent most of his working time. It was a pre-fab building that housed what New Vulcan had by way of government. Which at this point was less than a dozen Elders and a handful of non-Vulcans who'd stepped in to take some of the extra duties off the Elders' shoulders. They spent roughly five minutes there, and then Selik about-faced and they retreated back to Selik's apartment.

At that point, they curled up together on the bed, Saavik's crib pulled tight against the bed so that if they wanted to drag her into the middle of their cuddle-fest they could, but until then she would be where they didn't have to move carefully in order to keep from accidentally kicking her off the bed.

Not that there was all that much moving for a good long while.

Given their height disparity, one would assume that Selik was habitually the 'big spoon' during cuddles, if for no other reason. You'd be wrong. Not that they were spooning just yet. No, right now, Selik had his face buried in the crook of Jack's neck and Jack was petting his hair and back. Neither of them was speaking. At least, not aloud.

Selik had clearly, after the initial shock, done what he could to block his emotional chaos from Jack's notice. Jack, being the less able of the two of them to 'read' their bond or affect it, had still been aware something hinky was going on.

The tale Selik told ought to have had emotions leaking through the bond like it was going out of style, but there'd been virtually nothing. Clearly, Selik had opted to use the training he'd gotten in the process of trying for Kolinahr (Jack hated the memory of those days. Because seriously. That had sucked giant, overly hairy monkey balls) to keep his cool until they had some dedicated private time where he could fall apart.

Yeah. That urge to kick his own ass was not fading at all. Not even a little bit. It was, in point of fact, getting stronger. Oh, he knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but damnit, no one, NO ONE was allowed to hurt Selik. Not even him.

It was a resolution he'd come to, very firmly, in the wake of the whole Kolinahr/V'ger mess. Because the entire reason Selik had bolted for Vulcan to try that shit was because they'd finally discovered the bond between them and Jack had … well, not taken it well. There might have been a whole lot of yelling, accusations, and more than slightly unfortunate name-calling involved.

Jack did not react well when he felt like he'd been cornered or forced into something. It'd taken him a while to get his head out of his ass, and by the time he had, Selik had gotten far enough in his attempt at Kolinahr to more or less shut the bond down. Not break it … not even Kolinahr could, evidently. But it could definitely get the equivalent of packed into a box, shoved into the attic, and ignored.

That tantrum had cost them both entirely too much for far too long afterwards. But thankfully, eventually they'd both gotten with the program and .. yeah. Those last couple years before the Nexus had been incredibly good.

Good enough that he sincerely hoped that their counterparts here were, for one, destined for such a bond and for two, would get with the program a lot quicker than he and Selik had. Selik had mentioned that this reality's (or whatever, Jack wasn't one to sit there and try to define a thing) James Kirk was very little like him. Jack could only hope the kid was a touch less blind to the obvious, and less inclined to fight the good stuff that came along, regardless of how he found out about it.

Somehow, he doubted it though. If his counterpart was recognizable, especially to a traumatized Selik, … yeah. That didn't bode well, no matter what changes there were. Well, worst came to worst, he'd take his desire to kick his own ass out on his counterpart. Save both of their counterparts a little bit of grief.

Which reminded him. He needed to … wait. Check that. Nevermind. Everything he knew of that would happen was at least a decade away. Given all that had changed, it was entirely possible none of it would. Still, worth it to warn his counterpart the hell away from the Botany Bay if they ever stumbled across the damn thing. Or better yet, tell his counterpart to blow the damn thing up. As much damage as the bastard had done to the Enterprise and her crew, James didn't want to know how much worse it could get with a different ship and crew.

That was really the only thing James could think of that warranted their counterparts being warned. Everything else was entirely too much up to chance.

“I can hear you thinking, ashayam.” Selik muttered.

Jack laughed. “Well of course you can.” Between the bond and the touch telepathy, Jack would be frankly shocked if Selik couldn't hear what he was thinking.

“There is time enough to warn them of things they need to watch for.” Selik had had much the same thoughts, and for much the same reasons. With, in his case, the existence of the Borg, something Jack hadn't been around to see. “We must needs confirm such things could happen, first. For all we know, Khan and his ilk never existed, or were killed rather than exiled.”

Jack sighed. “Point.” He agreed. “Just, even if they're only friends, they don't need to go through that.” He made a noise. “Or any of our drama, come to that.”

“It may be some time before we can arrange to meet with them.” Selik said, bringing up the one thing that might just get Jack hot under the collar. He'd never quite forgiven David's death, even if he'd eventually helped with the peace process. “The Klingon armada was destroyed by Nero, and they have, of all things, applied to join the Federation. Your counterpart was sent to attempt to get the treaty signed.”

Jack sputtered incoherently for a minute, trying to wrap his brain around that nugget of information. Eventually, he sighed. “I suppose, if he's not had bad experiences with them, he'd be as good a choice as any.”

“Better than most, it would seem. He succeeded. He and the Enterprise are currently patrolling the Empire in order to assist them in warding off opportunistic enemies.”

“Yeah, I can see where a lot of folks would take advantage of them not being able to stop an invasion.” Jack said. “Kind of hard to believe their entire armada bought it.”

“Not quite all. Almost fifty ships. I am unsure as to the precise number, as I only have access to unofficial or secondhand news. They do have a few warships left, but nowhere near enough to even patrol their borders. Defending their colonies and home world is beyond them at this point.” Selik said.

“Are you going to come out of there anytime soon?” Jack asked, changing the subject. His voice was lightly teasing because the entire time he'd been talking, Selik had not lifted his head from its place in the crook of Jack's neck.

Yes, most people would definitely peg Jack as the cuddlee. Little did they know that given half a chance and a quarter of an excuse, Selik tried to wrap Jack around him like a blanket. It was adorable most of the time. Right now it was also a bit heartbreaking, because Selik was clinging a little harder than was his normal wont.

Selik's grip tightening was all the answer he got to that question. Jack gently kissed the top of Selik's head and did his best to wrap Selik up tighter. Selik dozed off about ten minutes after that. Jack stayed awake, gently petting Selik still. Selik woke up after only about an hour, give or take. He looked a bit better at that point. Less stressed, and certainly a whole hell of a lot less unhappy.

They had to give up the in-bed cuddles for a bit as Saavik was due a change and a meal. They decided to feed themselves at the same time. That done and Saavik down for a nap, Selik eyed his meditation mat.

“I would ask you to join me in meditation.” He said.

Yeah, bullshit. Jack knew exactly what Selik was asking for. A mind meld. Selik had always been hesitant about asking for them when he wanted or needed them, thanks in large part to Jack's epic tantrum over the bond's existence. Even there just before the end, he'd still hesitated, despite years of reassurances that it was ok with Jack.

“C'mon.” He said, deliberately grabbing Selik's hand such that their fingers twined. “Mind meld. You. Me. Now. I think we both need it. Badly.”

The first time they'd actually kissed the Vulcan way, Jack hadn't expected to feel anything. After all, humans just weren't wired that way. The assumption was assisted by the fact Jack had grabbed Selik's hand before then. Not often since he knew that was considered intimate by Vulcans, but there'd been a few times when he'd done it in the middle of an emergency and that fact had temporarily slipped his mind or grabbing Selik by the arm/wrist simply hadn't been possible for whatever reason. Those few times, Jack hadn't picked up on anything from Selik.

Kind of silly of him to not consider the idea that Vulcans, while kissing, deliberately projected their emotions to their bondmate. Or that they'd deliberately block emotional output if grabbed by the hand by someone they didn't want to expose their emotions to. Though it had made that first kiss a very welcome surprise. Not to mention it made public displays of affection a whole lot easier and less embarrassing for both of them. Even when they were around people who knew about Vulcan style kissing, a split-second brush of hands was easy to make look accidental.

Jack might not have been the telepath of their duo, but he'd eventually figured out how to 'push' his emotions at Selik when they were doing this. A fact he took advantage of now. Not that he hadn't been doing his best to 'push' his love and concern and support at Selik since he'd landed, of course. It was just easier via the hands or mind melds.

The speed with which Selik agreed to Jack's demand was telling. Not to mention kind of heartbreaking.

Sharing meditation and/or mind melding was one of the times that Selik actually was the 'big spoon'. Mostly because Jack's ability to kneel for extended periods had been all but nonexistent even in his thirties, never mind his fifties, when they'd finally gotten their heads out of their asses. They'd done a bit of experimenting before they'd settled on a way to be physically close enough to make the contact Selik needed to pull Jack into the mediation or meld possible without discomfort. It was, as Selik said from time to time, hardly the approved meditation posture, but needs must.

Today, Jack was grateful for that old habit. They settled on the meditation mat, Jack getting as close to sitting cross-legged as he was capable of – which at his age was not very close, sadly. Selik tucked in behind him, his longer legs curled around and half-supporting Jack's. Jack rested his head back on Selik's shoulder. Selik wrapped one arm around Jack's waist to keep him from falling over or unexpectedly lunging away (both of which had happened before Selik made holding on to him a habit), and the other had easy access to Jack's face and meld points.

Intimate. More than a little cuddly. Hence Jack's gratitude for the habit. Because Selik needed all the cuddling he could get. They both did, really. Jack hadn't realized how integral some level of mental contact with Selik had become until he'd been deprived of it and then come back to it.

And oh, how he'd missed this, without really remembering what it was he was missing, Jack thought as the meld settled into place. He'd badly missed the heat – the intensity – of Selik's feelings in general and Selik's feelings for him in particular. He basked in that feeling now without a hint of embarrassment, never mind shame. If what he was getting from Selik was any indication, he was doing the same thing.

After an unknown length of time, Selik pulled him into their shared mindspace. In the early days of sharing melds, Selik had 'shown' him how Selik perceived Jack's mind. It had mostly been a chaotic jumble of color and sound. The 'heat and intensity' Jack always associated with Selik apparently translated to a desert-like landscape.

Their shared space built on both. Which translated to a desert, but one more on the order of the Mojave Desert, which had a considerable amount of both flora and fauna despite being a desert, rather than the middle of the Sahara or pretty much anywhere on Vulcan. The plant life was a weird mish-mash of cacti, desert-friendly trees and bushes native to Earth and Vulcan flora. While they remained unseen, there was even the sounds of animal life.

Or that's how it had been. Right now, the place looked like it had been hit by an old-style nuclear weapon. Fully half the plant life was either blackened and shriveled or outright missing, the rest of it looking distinctly unhealthy. The animal sounds were entirely absent. Not good.

Selik had taught him that any variation from the 'norm' in their shared mindscape was either deliberately being controlled by Selik or an indication of a problem. Given what Selik had lived through recently, Jack was betting this mess was the latter.

Somewhat hesitantly, Jack touched one of the sickly-looking plants, and blinked when its color brightened and it healed up. Not entirely, but it looked a damn sight better than it had before he'd touched it.

Obvious corollary: Selik found having Jack back beneficial. Jack gave an amused snort at the thought. Talk about understatements. Still. Jack half-ignored Selik (his mental representation of himself looking a good bit younger than he did in real life) and wandered around for a bit, petting the sickly plant life to get it to look better. Selik let him, looking both amused and relieved. After a little bit, though, Selik intercepted Jack before he reached his next target.

“While I deeply appreciate your efforts on my behalf, ashayam, you will exhaust yourself if you continue.” Selik scolded gently.

“Worth it.” Jack said. “Just in case you missed it, I don't like it when you're hurting.” He waved a hand at their surroundings. “I may not know as much about this stuff as you do, but even I can tell this means you're hurting bad. Worse than you were willing to admit to.”

Which was hardly a surprise. Neither he nor Selik were much for verbalizing their emotions. Jack wasn't hypocrite enough to scold, either. He was just letting Selik know he understood what this mess represented.

The declaration got him a very fond look from Selik. Jack closed the distance between them and they curled around each other in an echo of what they were doing in the real world. At that point, Jack sort of got lost in the emotions bouncing back and forth between them. Enough that he no longer 'saw' their shared mindspace.

It was incredibly difficult, even with assistance, to concentrate on anything else when Jack was the dead-center focus of Selik's emotional projections. Especially when he was doing his best to 'send' his own emotions in return.

It was also incredibly arousing. Jack honestly defied anyone to not get very thoroughly aroused after five or ten or fifteen minutes dead-center of a Vulcan's love and devotion, whether experienced in a mind meld or via other means.

Given how upset Selik had been, Jack was honestly surprised to feel the evidence of Selik's own arousal when the meld finally ended. He'd fully expected Selik to be in no shape for that sort of thing for a while to come.

Not that he was complaining.

Jack tilted his head enough to be able to see Selik's face and grinned toothily at the heated look in those nearly-black eyes.

“Let's head back to bed, love. We have some catching up to do.” Jack said.

He laughed when Selik made as if to just toss Jack over his shoulder. Jack managed to get to his feet and hustled into the bedroom, Selik hot on his heels.


	25. Spending Time Together

Spending Time Together

(_)(_)(_)

Things went quiet after their encounter with the unknown ship. The Enterprise really had done damage enough, apparently, that the mystery ship had to withdraw. Either that or it was holed up somewhere nearby (relatively speaking of course) while its crew patched their ship up. Jim wasn't sure which it might be, and neither was anyone else.

Cruising around the Klingon Empire keeping a watch for trouble was rather boring, to be honest. Which Jim was kind of okay with on one level, because excitement meant trouble for the Klingons. Given the situation the Empire was in, trouble was not a good thing. Especially if the trouble was this unknown deciding to invade in force. A single ship, or even two or three, the Enterprise could handle. An entire armada? That might be a bit of a tall order. And the Empire simply didn't have anything remotely resembling a fleet capable of defending it right now. All they had was ten very old and worn out warships that had been on the verge of being decommissioned, and roughly thirty hastily retrofitted cargo ships that would absolutely not be able to handle a war. Hell, the cargo ships would barely be able to defeat a single ship in combat.

Then again, the Enterprise and her crew had managed to deal with Nero's hellship. Which was definitely something to brag about. So who knew. They just might manage to send an entire armada packing. Jim just didn't want that sort of thing to come up, for the Empire's sake. But if it did and they kicked ass? He was never going to stop bragging about his ship and his crew. Because damn. He was pretty sure the rest of the crew would be the same way. That kind of thing would be eternal bragging rights, if they didn't already have them for kicking Nero to the curb. Which he figured they kind of did, but none of them were really taking advantage of said bragging rights.

For the moment, though, bridge shifts were very dull. Even scanning for interesting things only did so much to relieve the tedium, mostly for Spock, though he did occasionally pipe up if he found something especially interesting. Jim spent so much time on paperwork that he actually managed to catch up. Which was kind of stunning, given the amount of paperwork a captain had to deal with. Jim had been under the impression that the paperwork never ended. 

So, after the third straight day of nothing, and with all his paperwork done and filed, Jim had resorted to reading. He also chatted with Sulu and Chekov. He'dve talked to Uhura, but she was keeping a close ear on the airwaves, just in case. He hadn't bothered Spock, as he was fairly sure Spock wouldn't be inclined to engage in a random conversation on duty. Whether he was actively working or not. Jim might have managed to engage him in a debate on something scientific, but nothing suitable presented itself. Ahh well.

So. Boring.

He wasn't the only one bored out of their minds, either. When Chekov and Sulu hadn't been talking to him, they'd had their heads together. Jim was almost afraid to find out what they'd been talking about. Those two seemed to feed off of each other's crazy. Which was good in the execution of their jobs. Actually, it was beyond good. Navigator/Tactical pairs that could do what Sulu and Chekov were capable of were hard to come by. That kind of synergy usually either took years of working together to develop or, more frequently, simply didn't develop at all. 

The latter didn't mean the pair would be crap at their jobs, of course. Most ships were crewed by Nav/Tac pairs with little or no synergy, and they still managed to kick ass. The lack of synergy slowed their reaction times and eliminated the really extravagant and crazy plans of attack or defense, since they had to talk to each other more in order to know what the heck they were going to do. Pairs like Sulu and Chekov, whether they started out that way or got there after years, could employ complex plans of action with only a word or two, a shared look, or sheer instinct – a 'knowing' of what their partner wanted or was going to do.

Pairs that had good synergy from day one were unbelievably rare and jealously guarded by their captains. Because as good as they were on day one … well, they only improved with time. So give Sulu and Chekov a few months of practice and they'd be the terror of the galaxy. A few years down the line? Jim grinned toothily at the thought and tried not to laugh. Because by then, the two would probably be capable of conquering the entire galaxy instead of simply terrorizing it.

The two of them sharing the same brain and feeding off each others' crazy outside of their jobs, though, was the stuff of nightmares. It was only a matter of time before the two of them started a prank war or something. So Jim both kept a weather eye on the two of them and practiced the ancient art of feigning ignorance so he wouldn't have to officially reprimand the two of them when they finally went and did something crazy outside of the execution of their jobs. 

Thankfully, just about at the point where Jim was going to resort to doing something drastic to relieve the boredom, shift ended. Jim passed the baton to his beta shift relief as quickly and efficiently as he could and all but bounced off the bridge right on Spock's tail.

“Hey, Spock. I've been meaning to ask. Want to spar? I need to figure out how to deal with beings substantially stronger, faster, and more durable than humans when a phaser blast to the face isn't an option.” Jim asked. “I can handle Klingons but those Romulans were kicking my ass.”

Spock had kicked his ass too, but Jim didn't mention that. As far as he was concerned, that nonsense was in the past and would stay there. It had been unbelievably extraordinary circumstances that would never repeat themselves. Bringing it up to Spock all the time would just be plain shitty. 

Spock gave him … well, quite the look. Raised eyebrow, slightly cocked head, the whole bit. Jim was still learning Spock's expressions, but this one wasn't all that hard to read. It all but came with an 'Are you serious right now?' sign over Spock's head.

Which, ok, Jim might deserve. Sort of. Just because he had put it in the past didn't mean that Spock had forgotten their little encounter on the bridge. Jim wanting to spar with Spock after that was probably breaking Spock's logic circuits. Jim just might be a bit of a troll though, because he'd found that yanking Spock's tail was fun. He didn't want to piss Spock off, of course. One encounter with that was two encounters too many as far as Jim was concerned. But teasing Spock in a friendly way? Was a blast. Jim waited Spock out, and Spock eventually decided that Jim maybe had a point. 

“That is logical.” Spock said.

Disguised, of course, as it being 'logical'. Having met – and been schnookered by – Spock's older counterpart, Jim had his suspicions about just how far 'logic' could be twisted to suit one's needs, especially if one was only half Vulcan to start with. The worst part was, if his counterpart was anything to go by, Spock wouldn't even have to actively lie, or the like. He just said things in the right way to get you to make the jump he wanted you to make. That whole 'don't tell your version of me about me' thing being a stellar case in point.

What the old guy had probably meant was that telling Spock about the old guy would probably have gotten Jim a quick trip to a thickly padded cell, rather than fix the problem. The way he said it, though, made it sound like some sort of universe ending paradox would happen and things would go boom even worse than they already were and had.

Jim didn't know if Spock already had that level of skill at chicanery or if that was a product of age. He kind of wanted to find out. Though he suspected it was less a product of age and more a product of … well … him. Or, well, his counterpart in the old guy's universe.

That 'A trick I learned from an old friend' comment was kind of telling, especially in concert with the old guy's very clear affection for one James T. Kirk. In which case, Jim was going to have all sorts of fun corrupting his Spock. Couldn't let his Spock get left in the dust, after all. It never occurred to Jim that the 'his Spock' part of that thought came out sounding distinctly possessive.

“Very well.” Spock said after another moment's thought. “I shall meet you in the officer's gym in half an hour.”

“Right, meet you then, Spock.” Jim said, grinning toothily. When the turbolift doors opened, he bounced down the hall to his quarters. Literally. Not really ostentatiously, but there was a definite bounding element to his walk.

He stripped out of his uniform and pulled on something he could sweat in without wanting to claw his skin off. The uniforms … had their problems. They were designed to keep most beings from looking like they were soaked in sweat, no matter how much they were sweating and honestly did do a good job of keeping you dry. The problem, though, was that past a certain saturation point, the material became really, really uncomfortable to wear. It got sort of tacky and sticky.

He grabbed something to eat after he'd changed. Nothing heavy – heavy food and sparring did not mix – but something. By the time he finished that, it was about time to head to the gym. He beat Spock there, amusingly enough, and used the time to stretch out and warm up a little. Obviously, if all heck broke loose he wouldn't have that luxury, but fighting cold when he didn't have to was just stupid. And led to avoidable injuries. Injuries that would have Bones reading him the riot act for. So yeah, avoid that sort of injury was a must. Jim was not a fan of the stealth hypo-ing that would result from such carelessness on his part.

Spock arrived just as he was finishing up stretching. Which earned him another cocked eyebrow when Spock realized what he was doing.

“In my perusal of your file.” Spock said as he headed for the sparring mat. “I noted that you had a marked preference for the more aggressive forms of combat.”

“Yeah.” Jim said.

He had been – and still was – entirely too angry to find the more passive/defensive combat forms to his liking. He'd had a dire need to beat the shit out of everything that got in his path for a long time, though thankfully that urge to physically beat the shit out of anything and everything in his path had eventually disappeared. Thank everything ever he'd ended up with really good instructors. The kind that didn't just teach people the nasty stuff and then let them out into the world. Jim had ended up with the kind of instructors that had hammered it into his head to you know, be responsible with what they taught him. Using it to scare the crap out of people for no reason or bully them was simply unacceptable. Using it in defense of his own life or someone else's was perfectly fine.

Fortunately, Jim had been perfectly fine with that idea. Eventually. It'd taken his first instructor more or less sitting on him until the worst of his unreasoning rage had worn itself out, but he'd gotten there. Doubly fortunately, that first instructor had twigged to the fact that Jim just was not going to go for most of the spiritual side of martial arts and had settled for, aside from the whole 'don't be an asshat' thing, teaching Jim to get control of his rage. He hadn't bothered trying to get Jim to get rid of it (or however you wanted to put that).

“This may be the root cause of your difficulties in fighting those beings who are stronger, faster, and more durable. Against such an opponent, the best way to leave a fight relatively uninjured is to not be there when the being strikes at you, and to use their speed and momentum against them, rather than taking multiple hits. There are several martial arts native to Earth which specialize in such maneuvers, if you wish to pursue such. Doing so, however, would be problematic at best if none of the crew are versed in such arts. I shall endeavor to teach you the same type of tactics, if without the benefit of them being a practiced art.”

Jim grinned. “Might be better that way. I mean, sure, Romulans or random bad guys we run across aren't likely to know an Earth martial art, but they might be able to recognize that what is going on is organized and codified somehow – and be able to predict what else I might do. If it's just random stuff, they're not going to have anything to go on.” Then Jim snorted with amusement. “Not to mention that all Earth based stuff presumes your opponent has the same body structure as a human. Not everyone keeps their vulnerable bits in the same places. And there are, of course, beings with body structures that aren't even humanoid.”

Martial arts had, sadly, very nearly died out thanks to World War Three. By the time that was over, the number of people who knew enough about any one martial art to teach it to others had shrunk horrifically. Worse, most of the stored knowledge, electronic and physical, of martial arts had been destroyed. Some of the rarer forms had actually died out completely, thanks to one or both factors. The ones that had survived had never regained the number of adherents they had once enjoyed. Humankind had been entirely too busy picking themselves up out of the ashes and then, after first contact, exploring the stars to bother. The advent of 'space guns' and the like had obviated the need for physical attacks in a lot of peoples' eyes, so no one who actually knew how to, had ever sat down and tried to create a martial art that focused on dealing with alien physiologies.

Spock nodded, though whether that was agreement of Jim's points or merely acknowledging that Jim had spoken he wasn't sure.

They spent the next half hour working on various things. Jim could tell that Spock was working at about half speed, based on what Jim'd dealt with on the bridge that day, but that was quite fine with Jim. They could work at speed once he had a better idea of what to do, and was more confident in being able to do it when opportunity presented itself.

Eventually, they called a halt.

“Thanks for this, Spock. I'd like to keep working at this whenever we can.” Jim said. “I know there'll be times when our schedules won't allow for it, but … “

Spock nodded. “It was a not disagreeable way to spend thirty-five minutes.”

Which Jim was pretty sure was Spock speak for 'this was fun, let's do it again sometime soon.'

“So, want to play chess?” Jim asked.

That got him a slightly flinty look. Not an angry-flinty. Just … yeah. Flinty.

Because Jim did not play chess like most people played chess. Because of that, he managed to win about half of the games they played, and it drove Spock nuts. He just could not figure out how to predict Jim. Despite having acknowledged that thus far there was nothing to predict. Spock was adamant that Jim had to eventually have a pattern of play he favored other than 'complete and utter chaos'.

Jim happily let Spock dream his impossible little dream. If Jim did have a pattern, it was 'never do the expected'. Which left a lot of room to maneuver on the chessboard. Because people generally expected one or two particular moves after any one gambit they pulled. Not doing those one or two moves left Jim with a plethora of choices elsewhere.

“That would be acceptable.” Spock said. “Though perhaps after dinner.”

“Nah, we can eat and play at the same time. Not like I don't have a bunch of vegetarian options on my room menu.” Jim said.

“Which I find curious.” Spock said. “Few humans are content with even the occasional meat-free meal.”

Jim shrugged. “I have to be careful with what I eat. A lot of foods are made with that compound I'm allergic to. Including a lot of meats, because the grains they developed with it grow just about anywhere and are pretty cheap to buy in bulk and feed to whatever animals.”

There was, of course, another reason. Six months of starvation left lasting damage and problems in its wake. But that was something Jim never talked about and only rarely thought about. And then, only after the occasional nightmare about those days that reared its head. He'd much prefer not to even remember that happened, never mind thinking or dreaming about it.

Thankfully, Jim's allergy was common knowledge among the bridge crew. He'd seen to it that they all knew, just in case he had a problem off-world. Bones would make sure everyone had the requisite hypos to deal with the inevitable problems, but they had to know that's what to look for to know it was that allergy acting up as opposed to some random reaction to an alien whatever. Which meant Spock knew about the allergy and probably wouldn't think to consider there might be other reasons behind Jims' meal choices.

Spock followed him to his quarters, and headed for the shelf where Jim kept his chessboard when they weren't in the middle of playing a protracted battle. Jim headed for the replicator to get their meals.

“What do you want?” Jim asked.

“The lasagna, please, Captain.” Spock said.

“Jim. We're off duty, so it's Jim.” Jim reminded him, for probably the fiftieth time since they'd re-launched the Enterprise. He dialed up the lasagna for Spock and a hearty meatless chili for himself, and brought them both to the table.

“So. Anything interesting on the scopes today?” Jim asked. Meaning, of course, anything interesting that Spock hadn't spoken up about.

“Several unusual debris fields.” Spock said. “None within a solar system, nor with obviously being-made debris. Which is indicative of a mid-space crash between two or more asteroids or other celestial bodies. If our patrols take us through this area again I would very much like to examine them more closely.”

“Not a problem. We'll have the time to do it, if we're not currently chasing some asshole out of Klingon space.” Jim said, then made a move. “Speaking of chasing assholes. Any new guesses about our mystery ship?”

“None at this time. We have very little intelligence to work with.” Spock said. He made his own move.

“Yeah, that's a problem. Especially since getting more intelligence means them coming over here and starting problems again, which the Klingons really don't need.” Jim sighed, then moved again.

“Agreed.” Spock said. He considered the board for a few moments before moving one of his pawns. “It is a most perplexing problem. I am aware that many expected trouble, but from what I understand, everyone was expecting trouble from a known source.”

“Yeah, a lot of folks had their money on the Romulans.” Jim agreed. “Though the Orions were also being considered as a potential problem.”

From what Jim knew, enslaving Vulcans just didn't work. They had such control of their bodies they could, apparently, will themselves to die. That said, a lot of people weren't willing to put it past the Orions to not try, or worse, to develop some drug that kept a Vulcan from self-destructing on them. If that ever happened, all hell was going to break loose. To be perfectly honest, Jim would be leading the charge. Slavery made him sick to his stomach.

There had been a reason he liked and respected Gaila, and the handful of other Orion women who had turned on their own and sought asylum in the Federation. It took solid metal balls the size of the Enterprise to realize the bullshit you lived with day in and out was wrong, turn your back on literally everything you knew and hope like fuck you landed on your feet.

Spock gave a very abbreviated nod. “Vulcans are now a rare … “ He didn't change facial expression at all, didn't even really change his tone, but the disgust came through loud and clear. “ … commodity. Were they to discover a way to successfully enslave us, they could become troublesome.”

Boy, did Spock have a way with understatement.

“Personally, I'm fully expecting trouble from within the Federation itself.” Jim said. “I mean, we're making friends with the Klingons. That's going to have a lot of people pretty grumpy. Plus there's … “ Jim waved one hand energetically, encompassing the Enterprise and her crew. “Us. Some folks will be upset about us for any of a number of reasons. I know Komack is frothing at the mouth. Admiral Pike's been having a lot of fun telling me all about it.”

“He is a less than agreeable man.” Spock said. Which, coming from a Vulcan, was roughly the same as calling him a dirty rotten son of a bitch, Jim figured. “A most illogical trait in one of his position. I am forced to wonder how he attained his Admiralcy.”

That did it. Jim let out a low whistle. “What did the guy do to you, Spock?” Because that? That had been downright, outright vicious by Vulcan standards. That had been worse than Spock's 'attack' on Jim at the academic trial.

Jim very briefly wondered if the dumb son of a bitch had badmouthed Spock's mother. Then as quickly decided no. Because even if Spock had started such an encounter a damn sight more emotionally stable than he had when Jim had pushed his buttons, Komack would still be in traction and Spock would very probably still be in the brig, or worse. Jim knew how to fight, how to take a hit. Komack was a soft-bellied desk jockey of the worst sort. If Spock had gone after him physically … yeah. That would have been ugly. And the odds of Spock having attacked Komack physically were insanely high.

Spock had been entirely too vicious and, despite his trauma, focused on beating the life out of Jim for that to have been the first time he'd gone to war in his mom's name. Jim kind of felt bad for the previous idiots to trip that particular trigger. Kind of. His own mother might have been shit, but he knew others weren't, and clearly Spock's had been one of the good ones. And the good ones? Deserved to be protected from assholes. So anyone badmouthing Spock's mom had deserved what they got, but still. Ouch.

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I may not know you all that well.” Yet, Jim thought. Give it a few more months and they'd be a lot better acquainted. “But you calling someone's rank into question is kind of telling. Besides, I know the asshole.”

“He made several oblique comments as to the advisability of the existence of 'half breeds' in my presence.” Spock finally admitted.

Well shit. Not quite insulting Spock's mom, but dancing really damn close to the line. Komack had no idea how close he'd come to a beatdown.

“Has he figured out yet that whatever comeback you hit him with was an insult?” Jim asked. 

Because that was the other thing about Spock, aside from his mom trigger. The guy definitely favored a scorched earth policy. A tendency Spock would have been forced to cloak in some sort of really cutting comment that only later was discovered to be a massive insult. Because Komack had the rank to, if not drum Spock out of the Academy, then make his time in the Academy so miserable Spock would quit, if Spock had done anything really overt.

Spock looked incredibly smug without, as far as Jim could tell, so much as twitching a hair from his usual placid non-expression. “I do not believe so.”

Jim gave him a toothy grin. “Good for you, then.”

“I find myself curious as to the particulars of your confrontation with him.” Spock admitted.

“Confrontations. Plural.” Jim said. “He didn't want me in Starfleet at all. Fought it tooth and nail. There might have been a few very loud 'conversations' between the two of us a few times.”

Something Jim had been able to get away with because despite his wild ways that first year, he hadn't once broken the rules. He'd just mercilessly exploited loopholes. Between that, his top-of-the-class grades and … well, who he was … Komack had gotten precisely nowhere with booting Jim out of Starfleet Academy.

Spock gave another of those abbreviated nods, and Jim grinned at him toothily. They shared a mutual moment of solidarity in their past history of Komack baiting. In that spirit, Jim decided to share some of Pike's tidbits.

“According to Pike, Komack threw an actual, I kid you not tantrum at one of the Admiralty meetings.” Jim told him.

That got him a cocked eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Yep. Apparently, he got upset when everyone basically told him to sit down and shut up over his constant moaning about me.” Jim said.

“Quite unprofessional.” Spock said. “Perhaps he should be sent to remedial classes in the comportment expected of high ranking Starfleet officers?”

Jim almost fell off his chair laughing. “Oh man. I ought to suggest that to Pike, then get him to record it when he brings it up to the Admiralty the next time Komack's being a shit. His reaction would be hysterically funny.” It took him a minute to calm down and refocus on their game. “Check, by the way.”

Which got him a very intense look that almost crossed over into being a glower. “I will eventually discover a way to defeat you more consistently.” Spock proclaimed.

“Maybe.” Jim allowed. “But today is not that day.” He gave Spock a toothy grin as Spock made the necessary move to get his King out of danger.

Of course, Spock being Spock, Jim might have managed that check, but the game was far from over. Sometimes, they could and did play a single game over the course of several days, a couple hours or more each day. Between Jim's chaotic playing style and Spock's steel trap of a brain, they were pretty close to even, which made the games fun and challenging as hell. Unless one of them was really distracted or tired, they could and usually did trade the 'lead' back and forth a few times before someone finally managed a checkmate. Or – and these were the most fun and longest games – they played themselves to a point where neither of them was going to be able to get a checkmate.

Jim figured the frequency with which Spock suggested playing indicated he was as thrilled to find a challenging opponent as Jim was. Even if Jim's playing style drove Spock insane. Either that or Spock figured the games were a logical way of getting to know one another in a somewhat less fraught atmosphere than when they'd first been introduced. Which was both not wrong and a good idea, if that was the case. It was rapidly getting to a point where Jim was almost considering Spock a friend. A potential, challenging-to-get-there friend. Which really, it was a good thing Jim adored challenges.

“Heard anything from the colony lately?” Jim asked as he made another move. Not one that put Spock in check again, sadly.

“Yes. Father commed me just yesterday. He was going into seclusion in the morning, to fully, properly prepare to carry extra kahtras long term. As the youngest of the Elders, he was the last to undergo the process.” Spock said.

“Which means the rest of them have already done it and are out of danger.” Jim said. He didn't pretend to understand all the ins and outs of this kahtra business, but he understood that holding more than one even short-term had its risks, especially if the Vulcan doing such a thing didn't have time to prepare for it.

“Yes. Several older Vulcans have also been vetted and accorded Elder status since the establishment of the colony, which has lessened the burden on the rest. Selik was not among them.” Spock told him.

“Probably didn't want to risk letting everyone know who he really is and where he's really from.” Jim said. “I heard from him last week, and he's been helping out, but mostly quietly. Though apparently he ended up adopting an orphaned Vulcan baby.”

Jim knew that Spock tended to avoid interacting with his elder counterpart. It was easy enough to do … and completely understandable. Logic be damned, meeting your significantly older self from another reality had to really screw with your head. Hell, meeting Selik had screwed with Jim's head. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it did to Spock.

“And your brother?” Spock asked in his own turn.

Spock had only asked about Winona once. Jim still wasn't sure what had been on his face, but Spock had never mentioned her again. For which Jim was grateful.

“Having the time of his life on the colony.” Jim admitted. “He and Aurelan both. Things had slowed down considerably at their previous post – enough for them to get bored. They're both thrilled to be up to their eyeballs in work again.”

Discovering, classifying, and naming flora and fauna on a new world might take several human lifetimes, but past a certain point, the discoveries dried up to maybe one a decade or so. Re-classifications as more in-depth information on something came to light were about as frequent. Sam and Aurelan's previous post hadn't quite reached that point yet, but it'd been close. A year's hunting in really out-of-the-way places had produced only one discovery.

At the colony right now, they were discovering roughly ten new things a day – and that was just in the area around where the city was being established. Sam and Aurelan (and all the other scientists in their specialties) would be busy on the colony the rest of their lives as they worked their way around the planet.

“You'll get a kick out of this.” Jim said with a grin. “Peter, their eldest son, has evidently made it his life mission to make friends with a particular Vulcan kid a couple years older than he is. Complete with following said kid everywhere he goes.”

That did get a flicker of amusement from Spock. Given the shit he had gotten, Spock couldn't help but find uptight purebred Vulcans having to deal with an illogical human toddler amusing as all hell. Not that Spock had said all that much about his life pre-Starfleet, but Jim could draw more than a few conclusions from what little had been said – that and Spock's extreme tetchiness where his mother was concerned.

Like Jim had thought earlier, someone had spoken ill of Amanda Grayson prior to Spock coming to Starfleet Academy. Probably more than once. Enough so that child-Spock had felt driven to rise to her defense at least once, but probably more than the once, again given how tetchy he was about people badmouthing her. That was … kind of telling, in and of itself. And did not put Vulcans in a good light at all.

Because if a completely illogical human could spot the logic fails in giving a child shit about things he had zero control of (like who his mother was and what species she was), but Vulcans, supposedly the arbiters of all that is logical, went and harassed said kid anyway … yeah. And it went beyond the kids. Because Jim refused to believe that none of the kids ever got caught giving Spock shit. Which made at least some adult Vulcans complicit in acts of illogic. Also, the kids would have had to learn how to give Spock shit from somewhere, which pointed the finger straight at their parents and any other adult Vulcans they interacted with regularly. Who were, by definition, adult, fully trained and supposedly fully logical Vulcans.

Speaking of, as strongly as Spock reacted to Amanda being badmouthed, Jim really did not want to know how Sarek reacted. That … yeah. That had the potential to be utterly terrifying. Jim had no idea who Spock got his temper from, but if he got it from his father … yikes. Jim would not be at all surprised to discover, were that the case, that Sarek had killed someone for their effrontery. On the other hand, Spock inheriting his mother's temper amused the hell out of Jim. Mostly because it came with the mental visuals of Amanda reading some idiot Vulcan the riot act. Jim was pretty sure most Vulcans wouldn't have a clue how to handle having someone get in their face the way some humans tended to when angry.

“And this is being permitted?” Spock asked.

“Less permitted and more … tolerated, if I read Sam right.” Jim admitted. “Like none of the adult Vulcans have the energy to spare to put a stop to it, and Sam certainly isn't going to try, because trying to explain why it might not be a good idea to a human kid Peter's age is … pretty futile. The Vulcan kid at least doesn't seem all that bothered by it. Finds Peter 'illogical', which is hardly a surprise, but doesn't apparently make any effort to make Peter go away.”

Given the kid was very probably an orphan, his reluctance to chase Peter off did not surprise Jim (or Sam and Aurelan) one bit. It probably also partially explained why the Vulcan adults were being so tolerant.


End file.
